Harry Potter and the Touch of Destiny
by EnigmaDecoder
Summary: Dumbledore finds his powers beginning to decline, while Voldemort's are growing. Harry discovers new powers, but will the Wizarding World accept them? The Prophecy is revealed to all, but is it open to interpretation? Harry's 6th year, no HBP.
1. Shape of Things to Come

**Chapter One**

**Shape of Things to Come**

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, greatest wizard of the age, sat at his desk in his office at Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. The Hogwarts Express had just left that morning to ferry the students back to London after the completion of yet another school year. It had been a very difficult year for him. The Ministry of Magic had tried to take over control of Hogwarts in order to silence his claims that Lord Voldemort had returned. They had succeeded too, at least for a time, and he had been forced to flee Hogwarts in order to protect Harry Potter from expulsion. But now, after Voldemort's recent public appearance at the Ministry, the campaign of denial waged by Minister Fudge had crumbled, and Albus was back where he belonged.

Albus wore a concerned look upon his ancient face, and gone was the seemingly ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes. He sat silently touching his wand to his temple, removing silver strands of memories, and gently depositing them in the Pensieve before him. The portraits of the former Hogwarts Headmasters and Mistresses on the walls of the office were having hushed conversations amongst themselves: concern for the man in front of them was their current topic. Albus paid them no mind; he was deeply immersed in his thoughts at the moment. Not even the gentle cooing of his phoenix friend Fawkes, from his perch next to the desk, seemed to penetrate his reverie. Casually, he stopped what he was doing and placed his wand on the desk. With a slow labored sigh, he removed his half-moon glasses and rubbed his eyes with his slender, long-fingered hands. He leaned back into his comfortable chair and replaced his glasses. After a moment's reflection, he slowly lowered his face into the shimmering swirl of memories that swam in his Pensieve. Albus Dumbledore needed answers. He only hoped he could find them quickly.

After a quick feeling of disorientation, the memory solidified around him. He was confronted with a much younger version of himself as he taught a Transfiguration lesson. He remembered this particular lesson well. It was always the first one that he gave to his fifth year students when they returned from the Christmas break. At the sudden gasp from the class he was able to narrow it down even further. His younger self had just awarded 10 points to Gryffindor House to reward a young, bespectacled Minerva McGonagall who had just successfully transfigured legs onto her teacup. The twinkle returned momentarily to the old man's eyes as he watched the bewitched teacup race back and forth across the desk, doing the occasional back flip, under the careful direction of his future Deputy Headmistress' wand. Another gasp from the class sobered Albus immediately. He remembered quite clearly that if Minerva was in this class, then so was another.

As his younger self declared, "Simply astounding Mr. Riddle, 25 points to Slytherin for that amazingly creative spell work!" The older Albus turned quickly and recognized immediately the reason he was in this memory. He locked his eyes onto the handsome young man who would one day become Lord Voldemort. Young Tom Riddle was currently directing his wand at a china replica of a Hungarian Horntail dragon, which had once been his teacup, as it circled his head in flight. With a quick flick of his wand, the small china dragon flew across the room and descended like a predator towards Minerva's still-prancing cup. As it neared its prey, it belched forth a small stream of flame from its tiny mouth which engulfed Minerva's teacup, causing one of its fragile legs to break, and sent the three legged cup pitching off the edge of the desk to shatter on the stone floor. Young Minerva let out a stifled shriek and levelled a thin-lipped glare at the memory Tom Riddle, who just smirked at her in response. Dumbledore listened as his younger self admonished Tom, deducted points from Slytherin, and assigned him a night of detention. The tiny dragon, which had returned to perch on Tom's shoulder, let out a tiny roar that sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard, and the memory twisted in a swirl of silver before once again solidifying into another memory long past.

After several hours searching his Pensieve, a visibly shaken Albus Dumbledore found himself, once again, in his office. He had not found the answers he had hoped. He stood up from his chair and walked over to Fawkes' perch. He reached out and stroked the beautiful red and gold bird and said, "Fawkes my friend, why is it that fate can be so impossibly cruel?" While he knew better than to expect an answer from his familiar, he had long ago become accustomed to using him as a sounding board for his thoughts. He smiled at his friend, threw a quick sleeping spell over the eavesdropping portraits, and continued speaking, as the bird trilled softly, encouraging him to open up.

"I have, of course, told you what an impossible burden our young Harry has on his shoulders." Albus clasped his hands behind his back and began to slowly pace back and forth across the office as he spoke. "I fear that it may in fact be too great a task for him. Were Harry to face Voldemort today, I do not doubt that he would be dead within a few short breaths. In fact, I daresay that he would be hard-pressed to last more than a few moments if faced with just a 15 year-old Tom Riddle instead. True, he has survived more meetings with him than any, save myself, who still draw breath. But he accomplished this feat, not through any great skill, but with a large deal of luck, and the timely arrival of aid when it was needed most. While the loss of such a fine young man would be terrible in itself, the consequences of his death would mean the end of our way of life.

"Fawkes," Albus continued, "I have spent the last several hours in search of answers hidden within my memories, but I have found none. I have reviewed my memories of the young schoolboy Tom Riddle that I taught all those many years ago, and those of the monster that he has become. I had hoped to find some weakness we could exploit. I have also watched my memories of Harry as he has developed, in hopes of seeing some spark, or hint, of the power that the Prophecy speaks of. Alas, my conclusions are not very reassuring.

"There is no doubt that Harry is a remarkable young man. He is possessed of a great deal of courage, but, having faced down what he has been forced to deal with in his short life, how could he not be? He displays remarkable loyalty to those he cares for, and he is selfless to a fault. In fact, I fear he would gladly trade his own life to protect just one innocent soul, and, in doing so, he would doom us all. The crux of my dilemma is this: Harry simply has not displayed the magical power that will be required to accomplish the task that destiny has handed him. While he has shown flashes of brilliance - his conjuring of a corporeal Patronus at thirteen years of age being a glaring example of this - his magic has not blossomed as I had hoped."

Albus stopped his pacing in front of the cabinet in the corner. He removed a fine crystal glass and a decanter of brandy from the second shelf. He poured himself a full three fingers of the amber liquid and returned to sit at his desk. "My friend," he continued after taking a sip of his drink, "I do not like the path my thoughts are taking, but I see no alternative. I cannot train him as he is now. He simply does not have the power to handle what I can teach him. I fear that such an attempt would do nothing but shatter what little self-confidence he has. Since Harry will not be ready to face Voldemort anytime in the foreseeable future, we have no choice but to keep him safe. He must not be allowed another roll of the cosmic dice until such time as he is ready.

"Harry must be protected, and, he must be allowed to develop into what he is destined to become. I only pray that he begins to show signs of the power the Prophecy spoke of, before all is lost. I fear that I have no choice but to break a promise that I made to Harry. I swore that knowledge of the Prophecy would be his to divulge to those of his choosing, but I must now break my word. I cannot protect him by myself. Already, the members of the Order are railing against me about the constant guard that I have insisted watch over Harry while he is at his relatives. Many of them feel that our efforts are better spent elsewhere, directly confronting Voldemort and his minions. Had I only the information that they have available to them, I daresay, I would feel the same about the situation.

"Fawkes, I have become an old man, and, I am not the wizard that I once was. Were it not for your timely appearance at the Ministry, I would have died in my duel with Voldemort. His power still grows, while mine has started to wane. I do not think I will be able to hold him at bay for much longer. The war has just begun, but I fear that I will not see its end. I must take steps to ensure that, if I fall, others understand Harry's importance.

"Yes Fawkes," he said before draining the dregs of liquor in the bottom of his glass, "after tonight's Order meeting, I will hold back the inner circle, and reveal to them the full contents of the Prophecy. The knowledge must not die with me." Having walked his train of thought through to its conclusion, he stood and with a flick of his wand he woke the now snoring portraits. The aged Headmaster shrank his pensive and, placing it into one of the pockets of his colourful robe, he strode towards the fireplace. He paused as he reached for a handful of Floo powder and the familiar twinkle returned to his blue eyes. With a smile on his face he turned towards Fawkes and said, "Thank you my friend. I would, as always, be lost without your wise counsel," as he bowed graciously to the phoenix. Fawkes let out an indignant shriek and vanished in a burst of red and gold flames. The Headmaster laughed softly at this as he turned back toward the fireplace. The last thing the portraits in the room heard before he vanished into the Floo network was, "Always such a cheeky pigeon."

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At roughly the same time as Albus Dumbledore was leaving his office at Hogwarts to meet with the Order of the Phoenix, the Dark Lord Voldemort was preparing to convene a meeting of a far darker nature. A grimace of disgust rippled across the snake-like features of Lord Voldemort as he downed the last of his potions. He hated the taste of them, but he hated the reason that he was forced to trifle with the potions even more: he was weak.

He had been gravely injured during the recent debacle at the Ministry of Magic. While he had faced Dumbledore again at the Ministry, the old man was not the cause of the Dark Lord's current problems. No, the only pain that Dumbledore had caused him was the irritation he felt as he was forced to listen to another of the old fool's self-righteous speeches. In fact, were it not for the timely arrival of Dumbledore's accursed phoenix, Voldemort would have killed him that night.

The source of Lord Voldemort's pain, as seemed always to be the case lately, was Harry Potter. He had possessed the boy at the Ministry and used him to taunt Dumbledore, but the boy had violently expelled him from his mind. It had taken all the strength that he had to escape from the Ministry with Bellatrix before he collapsed. The pain that the boy had caused him was beyond anything he had ever experienced. It had made the pain of the Cruciatus Curse seem like bad sunburn in comparison. And now, weeks after that night at the Ministry, Lord Voldemort was still weak.

Not that anyone would ever know of his plight though. After all, no Dark Lord ever stayed in power by showing weakness in front of his subordinates. With the liberal use of Pain Reduction, Pepperup, and Strengthening Potions he had been able to continue to project the all-powerful image that his Death Eaters expected to see. The hardest part of the deception was over now, and his strength was beginning to return. He expected to be one hundred percent again within a week's time.

Lord Voldemort, if nothing else, was a man who learned from his mistakes. He had underestimated Harry Potter on more than one occasion, but he vowed not to do it again. Lord Voldemort would never admit it, not even to himself, but he was afraid of Harry Potter. The beginning of that thrice-damned Prophecy had claimed that Potter has "the power to vanquish the Dark Lord" and he had to grudgingly accept that for the time being. He would not act directly against Potter again until he discovered the rest of that prophecy. Fortunately, he had a plan to gain the knowledge he required. He had carefully researched and implemented every aspect of it. Only he knew the details, and he was certain it would not fail.

A hesitant knock on the chamber door shook the Dark Lord from his musings. "Come," he commanded, as he stood and Vanished the empty potion bottles. The door opened and a short, nervous-looking, bald man scurried into the room, bowing hurriedly as he came.

"My Lord," the man squeaked, never raising his beady eyes to look at his master, "we have returned from Azkaban."

"Excellent, Wormtail. How did it go?" Voldemort responded.

"E-Everything was as you said it would be Master," Wormtail explained. "With the help of the Dementors, the Aurors on duty were overwhelmed within minutes. None survived. Your servants have been freed. They await your pleasure in the audience chamber. Also, I have received word from 'The Hand'. They have succeeded and will be returning tonight."

A twisted smile found its way onto Voldemort's face at this news. "Thank you, Wormtail," he said. "You have done well. Continue to do so, and you will be rewarded. You are dismissed, but do tell the men that I will be with them shortly"

Moments later, Lord Voldemort strode confidently into his audience chamber, stepped onto the raised dais at the front of the room, and sat in the high backed throne in front of his gathered Death Eaters. He casually reached down with his left hand to gently stroke the head of his giant snake familiar, Nagini, who was coiled menacingly around the legs of his throne. Voldemort's red eyes flashed over the sea of Death Eaters in front of him and he noticed, with great satisfaction, that many of the black robed, white masked men were trembling in fear at his mere presence.

"My friends, we are here tonight," he began, "to welcome back into our flock those members whom we have just liberated from their short stay at Azkaban. The Dementors have joined our side, and the prison has fallen. This is the first blow in our war to purify the wizarding world."

Voldemort rose to his feet and, with dark passion rising in his voice, he continued his speech. "For too long, we, the elite of the wizarding world, have been forced to hide in the shadows. For too long, we have been denied the power that is our rightful birthright."

He paused momentarily, and allowed the venom to build in his voice before resuming. "For _too_ long, the wizarding world has been infected by a plague of Muggle-borns and Half-bloods who have been _allowed_ to partake in our sacred knowledge. No longer shall we allow this to continue. The purge has begun. _We will burn this world to the ground!_ And, from the ashes of our fires, we will build the world anew, as it was meant to be! Together, we will fulfil the vision of my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin!" A cheer broke out from the gathered Death Eaters as he finished his speech and returned to sit on his throne.

"Unfortunately," Voldemort began again, and the room fell instantly silent at the sound of his voice. "Before we begin tonight's Revel, I must take care of some business. He raised his wand and cast a complex spell into the Dark Mark on his arm. Almost immediately, several members of the audience grasped their own Dark Marks with a quick intake of breath. "Now, if those of you who did not just feel a summons will wait in the graveyard. _Most_ of us will be along to join you shortly."

Once the rank and file had left the chamber, those remaining removed their masks as Voldemort addressed them. "Lucius, come forward."

The man in question broke rank from the others who had remained behind, knelt before Voldemort and kissed the hem of his robe before he said, "I am here my Lord, how may I serve you?"

"Lucius," Voldemort addressed the kneeling man in a cold tone. "You have disappointed me. I gave you, above all others, the honour of retrieving the Prophecy from Potter at the Ministry. I even sent along many of my most loyal Death Eaters to aid in your task, but you failed me. I have given a lot of thought to what punishment you should be given. Before I pass judgment though, tell me, Lucius, why did you fail?"

"M-My Lord, I have no excuses." The aristocratic wizard replied nervously as he bowed even lower in submission before his master. "I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to give, I will not fail you again."

Voldemort successfully prevented a smile from appearing on his face and said, "Very well Lucius, as a reward for your loyal service over the years, I will forgive your failure this time. Rise, my friend, and rejoin the others."

The stunned man rose quickly and returned to stand with the others. He was so astonished by this uncharacteristic act, that a stuttering "Thank you, M-Master" was the only response he could manage. Lucius had expected to be punished quite severely for his failure at the Ministry. In fact, a part of him had not expected to live through his next meeting with his Master.

Voldemort saw the confusion that showed in the ice blue eyes of Lucius Malfoy and said coldly, "Do not make me regret the leniency that I have shown you today, for I promise you, that if you fail me again, it will be the last time."

He watched Lucius' eyes and saw the earlier confusion replaced with a look of steely determination. While it is true that the fear of pain and suffering can be a strong motivating force, a master manipulator like Voldemort was smart enough to realize that there are many ways motivate men. In this case, a kindness shown to a man who expected none had accomplished what no amount of torture could have. He would never have to worry about Malfoy returning in failure again. The look in Lucius Malfoy's eyes proved that point beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Voldemort looked up from the gathering at the sound of the chamber door opening. A bowing Wormtail rushed forward and said, "Master, they have arrived."

"Good, Wormtail, show them in" Voldemort responded.

As Wormtail rushed back out the door, Voldemort once again addressed the group. "Rookwood, what progress have you made in the hunt for Karkaroff? You made it very clear how much you desired the chance to payback the traitor for his actions towards you at his trial, and I have granted you your chance for revenge. It has been over a year since you began your hunt for him and I would like to know what progress you have made."

Augustus Rookwood stepped forward, bowed, and began his report. "Master, unfortunately, I have nothing new to report. My informants tracked him down to a village outside St. Petersburg, but, by the time I arrived, he had vanished and hasn't been sighted since. I am sorry that the news isn't better, Master."

The Death Eaters in attendance braced themselves for the explosion that was sure to come. Voldemort had already let Lucius slide tonight, but none of those present expected Rookwood to receive the same treatment. To the surprise of everyone, all Voldemort said was, "I know you are, Rookwood. I am _sure_ that you have been giving this matter your full attention and I am certain that he will turn up eventually."

The gathered Death Eaters exchanged nervous and confused glances amongst themselves. The newer members who were in attendance, thinking that the tales of the Dark Lord's cruelty must be exaggerated, seemed to visibly relax. After all, Voldemort had casually dismissed failure twice already this evening.

However, those Death Eaters who had been present during Voldemort's first rise to power saw the Dark Lord's act for the farce it was. Never had Voldemort so calmly accepted failure. That he appeared to now, could mean only one thing. He knew something that Rookwood didn't, and the Dark Lord, like a cat toying with a mouse, planned to enjoy his private game for a while before he pounced on Rookwood.

The door to the chamber opened again and Wormtail, followed by two men, entered and came to join the others. The gathered Death Eaters surveyed the newcomers critically as they approached. They dismissed Wormtail immediately - the rat was next to worthless in their eyes - but there was something out of place about the other two.

Both strangers were dressed identically in what appeared to be Muggle clothing. They wore black jump boots, khaki cargo pants, and heavy grey wool jumpers with suede patches on the elbows and right shoulder. They were both of average height, had short cropped black hair, and dark brown eyes that flashed constantly around the room. They had a slightly darker cast to their complexions that led those Death Eaters who noticed to believe they hailed from some part of the Middle East. The two men, who must have been twins, were identical in everyway except that one bore a long, angry, red scar across his throat. They appeared to be unarmed, but both had a suspicious bulge on their right hip underneath their jumpers.

The more intelligent Death Eaters in the group took notice of the graceful economy of their movements and the calculating glare in their eyes. They recognized that these were dangerous men. The less intelligent members of the group saw only the arrogant swagger of two men who dared to walk in front of their Lord without showing the proper respect. As a group, they bristled when they realized that these men were not wizards, but muggles.

Lord Voldemort watched the pending confrontation with interest. This was the first time he had met these men, but if only half of the information their father, the only man that Voldemort had ever considered a true friend, had provided about them was true, he was excited to see how they handled themselves. They might even teach a much-needed lesson in humility to some of his more self-confident Death Eaters.

It began much as Voldemort had expected. A sneer of distaste crawled onto Lucius Malfoy's face, and with a quick shout of "Muggle filth," he began to reach for his wand as the lumbering Crabbe and Goyle moved towards the newcomers. The two strangers reacted instantly to the oncoming threat.

The man with the scar on his throat moved first. He landed a swift kick to the much larger Crabbe's knee, breaking it with a loud snap. He immediately followed up with a vicious punch to the falling man's temple that left him in an unconscious heap on the floor.

The second man snapped his wrist and produced an extendable metal baton in his left hand, which he used to deliver a backhanded slash to Goyle's throat. He spun around the advancing man, as Goyle dropped to his knees, clutching is throat as he tried to force air through his collapsed windpipe. He finished his spin just to the right of Malfoy with a matte black automatic pistol, that he had drawn in his right hand at some point during his spin, pressed against Malfoy's temple. The metal baton in his left hand was pinning Malfoy's hand, which had been going for his wand, firmly to his chest. The man was in perfect position to see a fourth Death Eater, with his wand raised, step behind his brother and start to utter a curse. He gave a shrill whistle to alert his brother to the threat behind him.

"AVADA K…." was as far as Antonin Dolohov got before his jaw snapped shut. At the whistle from his brother, the scarred man had dropped into a crouch, drew a long bladed stiletto from a holster in his boot, and pivoted as he rose to drive the thin blade through the soft area right under Dolohov's chin, through the roof of his mouth, and into his brain, killing him instantly. He moved behind the dead man and held him up in front of him as a shield against any further attacks.

Voldemort let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and shouted, _"Enough! Stand down, all of you!"_ as he rose to his feet. He hadn't wanted one of his Death Eaters to die; they were too few in number as it was. He saw it as a necessary evil though. After all, these muggles were integral to his plans. His Death Eaters didn't have to like these men, but they needed to respect their abilities if they were to learn from them.

Reluctantly, those Death Eaters who were still able released their wands and relaxed. Seeing all potential threats disappear, the brother holding the gun on Malfoy stepped back, holstered his pistol, collapsed his metal baton, and tucked it back up his sleeve. He threw a sly wink at Malfoy that caused the wizard to whiten with rage. Meanwhile, the scarred brother gave deft twist of his wrist that freed his blade from Dolohov's skull and allowed his body to fall to the floor in a growing circle of blood. He knelt and wiped the gore from his blade before lovingly returning it to his boot.

Voldemort smiled when he recognized the SS insignia on the man's blade. He had given that dagger to the man's father over thirty-five years ago, as a sign of friendship and to cement their alliance. It pleased Voldemort to see the affection that his friend's son seemed to have for the dagger. However, he found it deeply ironic that a Mossad operative would show such appreciation for a weapon that had once belonged to the Nazi Adolf Eichmann.

"I believe it is time for me to introduce our guests" Voldemort said in his normal cool tone. "Allow me to present Josef," he extended his arm to indicate the brother with the scarred throat and nodded towards the other man, "and David Hofis, together they are known as 'The Hand'. They are here at my invitation to report on the status of a mission that I gave them. You will, I am sure," he said while glancing at Dolohov's body, "treat them with every courtesy during their stay, as it would be a shame to have to replace more of you. Oh, and I should mention that Josef will not respond beyond a nod of his head. I assure you, he is not being rude or disrespectful. He had an unfortunate run in with some members of the PLO. He survived the encounter, but the knife that slit his throat also severed his vocal cords and he hasn't spoken a word since."

The brothers stepped forward, snapped off a respectful bow, and David said, "Lord Voldemort, our father sends his best wishes and asks that you call on him when you are able. As for our mission, it has been done as you requested. Igor Karkaroff is dead." Wormtail shuffled forward and handed a package wrapped in a black plastic garbage bag to Josef. In the background, Rookwood paled dramatically.

"Here is the item you wanted recovered," David said as Josef allowed the garbage bag to unravel until it deposited a severed arm with the Dark Mark clearly burned into it on the floor at Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort was on his feet in an instant and with an angry shout of _"Crucio!" _Rookwood crumbled to the floor screaming in agony. _"You useless worm, it has been two weeks since I gave them this mission! You had over a year, and yet, all you produced were pathetic excuses!" _Voldemort held the curse on the screaming man for a good thirty seconds before he released it. It was a very short punishment compared to what he usually delivered but in his weakened state he didn't dare push his limits.

His eyes searched the faces of the stunned Death Eaters until they fell on the sole woman in attendance. He saw the hunger in her eyes as she watched Rookwood quiver in pain at the after-effects from her favorite curse. Voldemort sat back on his throne and said, in a honeyed voice that he reserved just for her, "Bella my dear, please take Rookwood and ensure that he understands the depth of my displeasure with him. Feel free to mark him in anyway you see fit, but, please don't allow him to die. I will give him one more chance to prove his value."

In a quick rush, Bellatrix burst forward and knelt to kiss her Master's booted feet. "Thank you Master!" was her hurried reply as she all but ran from the chamber, a floating and Petrified Rookwood, trailing behind her. Voldemort allowed himself a satisfied smile when he heard Bella's insane laughter echo in the hall before the door shut. He always enjoyed torture, but Bella, she was an artist. He turned once again to David and nodded for him to continue.

"My Lord, I feel that I should mention that the fat one," he nodded his head towards Goyle, who was still struggling to breathe and was beginning to turn a little purple, "will be dead in under 10 minutes unless he receives some aid." Voldemort, who had completely forgotten about the man, sent Wormtail to take him to the infirmary. "As you suspected, Karkaroff wagged his tongue, in an effort to save his skin, right up until we removed it. The only worthwhile information that he had is that apparently Severus Snape has been playing you for a fool. He is a spy for Dumbledore, and has been for many years."

A cry of outrage rippled from the gathering and Rodolphus Lestrange stepped forward. "Master," he said, "Please allow me to bring you the traitorous bastard's head."

"No," Voldemort responded. "Snape is not to be touched. I have known of his true loyalties since my return. For the time being, he serves my purposes. Tell me David, what sort of person makes the best spy?"

David thought about it for a moment and replied, "The best spies are those who don't realize that they are spies in the first place."

Voldemort smiled at the answer and said, "You are, of course, correct. Unbeknownst to Severus, I have modified his Dark Mark to act as a recording device. When he attends our meetings, I simply draw the information from his Mark into this crystal" he indicated a fist sized piece of quartz that he withdrew from his robes, "and I am free to sift through the recorded memories much as I would with a Pensieve. I have been able to attend every meeting of The Order of the Phoenix for the last month."

He watched as realization set in on the faces of those gathered and continued. "I am sure you all realize the tremendous advantage this provides us. Severus must be allowed to continue his game, because the information that I am able to obtain through him is invaluable to our cause. Rest assured, when the time comes to deal with him, I will handle it personally.

"As you are all aware, knowledge is power. For all of his glaring faults, Severus Snape remains an intelligent and perceptive individual. So, I cannot risk that one of you will inadvertently let slip something that would cause Severus to suspect that he has been compromised. Only I will be allowed to retain this knowledge." He drew his wand, and with quick shout of _"Magna Obliviate"_ he watched as the revelation about Snape was wiped from the men's minds.

Once he was certain that the charm had taken effect, he moved on. "David and Josef, kneel and prepare to receive your reward." The two men knelt in front of the Dark Lord and became the first muggles to be initiated as Death Eaters. Neither brother gave so much a hiss as the Dark Mark was burned painfully onto their forearms.

**A/N: Here is the first Chapter. Thank you all for reading and thanks to my Beta LucyLupin for taking the time to help me with my story**.

**EnigmaDecoder**


	2. Fair

**Chapter Two**

**Fair**

Harry Potter sighed quietly in the backseat of the Dursleys' sedan as the car pulled into the driveway of number four Privet Drive. It had been an abnormally quiet ride back from King's Cross Station, which had suited Harry just fine. He didn't have anything to say to his horrible relatives anyway. It was nice to see that the warning, no, the threat, that Alastor Moody and some of the other Order members had given his relatives back at the station had, at least allowed him some peace and quiet during the hour-long ride back from the station. He didn't expect it to last much longer though. The Order, for all their good intentions, just didn't understand the type of people that his relatives were. If they did, they wouldn't have even bothered trying to help.

He was expecting his uncle to tear into him at any moment for the incident at the station. In fact, he had spent a good part of the ride back imagining the expected tirade, and trying to decide just which angry colour his Uncle would reach by the time he was finished. Harry had finally decided on light purple because it was his favourite. It always reminded him of the hideous purple stuffed walrus that his cousin Dudley had stolen from a smaller child at a Carnival when he and Dudley were both ten. Much to Harry's amusement, Dudley had named the stuffed animal 'Vern'.

The car stopped and his uncle killed the engine. His aunt quickly got out of the car and headed inside. Vernon hit the button on the dash that released the boot and followed his wife inside without a word. Dudley continued to sit in the backseat unmoving. He seemed to be heavily engrossed in some article in the boxing magazine that he was reading. Apparently, he had decided to finish reading before he went inside, or he was having a difficult time deciphering one of the larger words in the article. He got out of the car and took Hedwig's cage up to his small room before returning to get his school trunk from the boot. He smirked at the thought of his simple-minded cousin; he had probably spent the majority of the ride trying to sound out, and understand, the words 'technical knockout'.

By the time Harry returned to the car for his trunk, Dudley was closing his magazine and beginning the process of extricating his massive frame from the backseat.

Harry paid no mind to the struggling Dudley, wrenched his large trunk out of the car, and began to drag it inside. He had taken only a few steps towards the house when Dudley slammed an elbow into the small of his back as he passed him, causing him to drop his trunk. Dudley turned and glared at him threateningly, daring him to do anything about it. When he saw that no response was forthcoming from Harry, he turned once again and went inside slamming the front door behind him.

With a sigh, Harry bent down to retrieve his trunk. _Well,_ he thought resignedly, _it was nice while it lasted_. He began dragging his heavy trunk towards the house again when he stopped suddenly; something was wrong. He felt a sudden swooping sensation in his stomach, as he had experienced when he had fallen from his broom in his third year, and his skin erupted in goose bumps. He dropped into a crouch and his heart started violently hammering away in his chest as he looked around for the source of his unease. Seeing nothing, he hurried to get inside with his trunk. He had taken only one more step when he caught, out of the corner of his eye; a beam of pale yellow spell-light heading his way from the hedge line that separated number four, Privet Drive from the neighbour in number two.

Harry couldn't get to his wand in time to even consider trying to shield against the fast-moving spell, so, with a violent heave he tried to throw his trunk between his body and the unknown spell. Harry was relieved when the spell struck the trunk, but before he could react to the attack, the heavy trunk that he was struggling with suddenly weighed much less. Since Harry was pulling violently on his trunk when it happened, he overbalanced and spun in an awkward looking pirouette before slamming into the lawn face first. His now feather light trunk slipped from his grasp as he twisted and bounced across the yard before coming to a stop on the sidewalk some thirty feet away.

As Harry spat out a blade of grass and pushed himself back onto his feet, he shook his head as he realized what just happened. Apparently, whomever the Order had on guard duty at the moment had seen the difficulty he was having with his trunk and decided to lend a hand. He reddened in embarrassment, and quickly ran over to retrieve his trunk. He paused, trunk in hand, before he opened the door and shot a hushed and sarcastic "thanks a lot" to his hidden minder. He heard a soft snort and the tinkle of feminine laughter in response. As he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he thought with a smile, _Must have been Tonks. Only she could turn helping someone into such an utter disaster_.

As soon as the door shut, Harry felt a strong hand grab him by the shoulder. He was quickly spun around and slammed violently into the foyer wall. Harry watched distractedly as a framed photo of baby Dudley in a Father Christmas hat was knocked from its place of honour on the wall by the sudden impact, and fell, shattering on the floor. Harry turned to regard his irate uncle as he pinned him to the wall and brought his pinched angry eyes and bulbous red face to within a few inches of Harry's nose.

The strong smell of onions almost overpowered Harry as his Uncle began to speak, grinding out his words in a harsh and deadly whisper. "Don't believe for one second that those freakish friends of yours that accosted us at the station intimidated me in any way. I will not be told how to act in my own home!" Harry thought it sounded like he was trying to convince himself of his words as he spoke.

Uncle Vernon paused as he removed his hand from Harry's shoulder and gripped him firmly by the throat. He moved in closer to Harry until his saliva-covered lips were almost touching his ear and continued. "Understand this, you ungrateful little shite, if you so much as put one toe over the line this summer, I will beat you so badly that you will be lucky to leave your room under your own power for a month! _Don't_ test me." He pulled Harry away from the wall and slammed him back into it to emphasize his point, before he released him, and made to leave the room.

Harry had looked death in the face too many times to be cowed by the blustering threats of his bully of an Uncle. His green eyes flashed with anger, _I won't allow him to push me around ever again_, he thought as he watched his uncle turn to leave.

"No, Uncle Vernon, I am not afraid of you. You're nothing but a weak, posturing old windbag." Harry whispered under his breath.

Apparently, it wasn't quiet enough because, his uncle spun on him faster than a man his size should have been able to move, with his meaty fist pulled back to strike.

"YOU ARROGANT LITTLE BERK! I'LL SHOW YOU WEAK!" UncleVernon roared as his fist descended towards Harry's jaw.

_STUPID!_ Harry chided himself as he closed his eyes. _Why didn't I at least pull my wand, before I spoke?_

Harry didn't run or try to dodge the blow. He knew from experience that if he did, then things would only be worse when his Uncle was finally able to corner him. No, he just stood there - furious with himself - raised his chin in defiance, and waited for the blow to fall; but it never did.

Harry heard his Uncle give a loud "UMPFF" and opened his eyes to see the man stagger back and fall to one knee, clutching his chest as if he had been struck. He levelled an accusing glare at Harry, pointed a shaking finger up the stairs, and grunted, somewhat breathlessly, "Up-Upstairs you F-FREAK!" before pausing to suck in a deep breath, "I d-don't want to see you for the r-rest of the summer!"

Harry thanked his lucky stars for whatever had just happened to stop his Uncle from pummelling him, grabbed his still-feather-light trunk, edged carefully around his uncle as he struggled for breath, and bounded up the stairs taking them two at a time. He heard Dudley yell, "Mum, come quick! Harry did something to Dad!" and a shriek from his aunt, before he shut his bedroom door, effectively cutting off the sounds of their voices.

He walked over and deposited his trunk at the foot of his bed, removed his wand from the waistband of his jeans, and flopped down onto his back on the thin mattress. Harry lay silently for a few minutes and allowed the adrenaline that was pumping through his body from the confrontation to disperse. _Well_, he thought sardonically, _this is definitely going to a long summer. I wonder what happened to Uncle Vernon downstairs. Did I perform some type of accidental magic that pushed him away and stopped him from attacking me? _He opened his eyes and briefly scanned his room. _Well, no Ministry owls in sight. That's too bad, another letter from Malfalda Hopkirk would have REALLY made today perfect. Tonks, or whoever my guard is today, must have hit him with something then. Wait, speaking of that, how did I know that someone was there before they fired that spell at my trunk?_

Dismissing his thoughts for the moment, Harry walked over to Hedwig's cage and opened the door. He reached into the cage to stroke his owl, but hastily withdrew his hand when Hedwig nipped it, a little too hard, and broke the skin.

"OUCH!" Harry exclaimed, and he shook his hand at the unexpected pain. He regarded his snowy owl with narrowed eyes as she flew from her cage and perched on the edge of his worn desk. "Well _that_ wasn't necessary," Harry scolded, as he examined the small trickle of blood that was running down his injured finger. Hedwig just tilted her head in response and stared at him with her large amber eyes.

Harry walked to his trunk, opened the lid, and sifted through its disorganized contents until he found the bag of owl treats he was looking for and one of Dudley's old t-shirts. He carefully ripped a strip of fabric from the shirt and wrapped it around his finger to stem the free-flowing blood. True, he could have just headed down the hall to the loo for a plaster, but he didn't want to chance another run in with the Dursleys just yet. After he dressed his wound, he took the treats and was about to present one to Hedwig, when he thought better of it, and settled for placing the treat about a foot away from Hedwig.

_Fool me once…_ Harry thought distractedly as he moved to open his window. The fresh air streaming in did much to counter the overly antiseptic smell that lingered in his room. Apparently, his aunt had tried to purge any 'freakiness' that Harry might have left behind at the end of last summer, with the liberal use of cleaning products, whose various odours still lingered heavily in the air. Whatever the reason, the smells were definitely making his headache worse.

He removed his glasses and made to lie back on his bed, as he said, "Hedwig, why don't you go out and have a fly? I have a headache and I'm going to take a quick nap so I'm afraid I won't be very good company for a while." He shut his eyes as he gently massaged his temples, and he heard Hedwig give a doleful hoot followed by the soft flutter of her wings as she flew out the open window.

Despite the pounding of his head, Harry was able to drift of to sleep after a few minutes. Ever since he had been possessed by Voldemort at the Ministry, Harry had been bothered by frequent headaches. It wasn't pain in his scar this time though: he hadn't felt so much as a twinge in it since he had left the Ministry, for which he was very grateful. No, these were just regular everyday headaches. Unfortunately, they had gotten so frequent, that he had ended up consulting with Madam Pomfrey, Hogwarts' resident healer, before he left school.

Madam Pomfrey had never heard of a possession as painful as the one he described experiencing at the Ministry, but she was quick to blame the connection he shared with Voldemort, through his scar, for the pain. The kindly matron had run a few tests on him to see what might be causing the frequent headaches that he was complaining of. When the tests had all come back negative, she chalked the whole thing up to lingering stress from his O.W.L exams combined with the unresolved guilt he felt at the recent loss of his godfather. The Headmaster had apparently notified the entire staff about the death of Sirius Black, and asked for them to keep an eye on Harry, lest he begin to slip into depression. This revelation about the Headmaster, while it annoyed Harry no end, didn't surprise him much. It simply fuelled the growing grudge he felt towards the man.

Sometime later, Harry was awakened from his nap by a soft thud. He sat up groggily and put on his glasses. He shot a glance at his alarm clock to see how long he had been asleep, but then sighed in frustration. He had forgotten that the stupid thing was broken. The LED that displayed the hour had burned out at some point during the previous summer. All that he could determine from it was that it was in the PM. '_Absolutely useless, _he thought absently as he stood to find the source of the noise that woke him.

It didn't take him long at all to find the source of the disturbance. He saw a quivering bundle of feathers on the floor next to a large package that must have been the owl's burden. Harry recognized the bird immediately as Errol, the Weasleys' elderly family owl. He gingerly picked the exhausted owl up and set him on his pillow to rest as he examined the package. There was a letter addressed to him, in Mrs. Weasley's sprawling script, tied to a box with coarse twine. He put the letter aside for the moment and opened the box to find it filled with several samples of Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking. He picked up a pastry-wrapped meat tart from the top of the pile and, setting the rest of his box of goodies aside for the moment, he picked up the letter, opened it, and, meat tart in hand, he began to read. He smiled in satisfaction when, with his first bite of the meat tart, he discovered it was still warm.

_**Harry dear,**_

_**I know you must have just returned to your relatives several hours ago, but I think it is highly unlikely that those horrible relatives of yours would have a hot meal waiting to welcome you home. I sent this package out with Errol just before we left to meet you children at the train station. The poor dear means well, but he just can't get around as fast as he used to. Arthur and I are looking into getting a replacement for him, but until we can find one, we will just make do with Errol. **_

_**Oh Harry, I must tell you, I begged and pleaded with Albus for two solid weeks, but he refused to even consider placing you anywhere but at your relatives, 'at least for the time being' as he put it. Don't you worry about it dear; I won't let up on him for a minute until he gives in and sends you here to the Burrow where you belong. I don't know if any of my children have mentioned it or not but I can be very tenacious when I have to be. Let's see, how do Fred and George put it? Oh yes, they say I can be an 'unbearable nag sometimes'. Ha-Ha! Its okay to laugh, dear, it does the soul good.**_

And Harry did just that, as he took a break from the letter and had another bite of his tart.

**_As I was saying, I haven't been able to sway Albus yet, but I will keep at him until he gives in. Hopefully, we will have you away from there in short order. Till then, I have decided that I will just have to do the best I can under the circumstances. I have seen how horribly drawn and underfed you always look when we get you back from those terrible muggles. I have decided that I can, and will prevent that from happening to you this year. The package of food that I included with this letter is the first of many that I will be sending you this summer. I asked Bill for help, and he was able to find a long lasting Warming Charm that I enchanted this box with (and those to follow). According to Bill, the charm should keep your food pipin' hot and fresh for at least three days. So, I expect to see you healthy and well fed when we get you away from that place._**

_**Oh Harry, I was so, so, sorry to hear about Sirius. He and I may not have always seen eye to eye about things, but he was a wonderful and resilient man who loved you dearly, as we all do. We will all miss him. Harry, I know that I could never replace Sirius, but if you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can always come to me.**_

**_Well I guess that's it for now, Arthur is saying that we really must be getting to the station now. I think its still a little early, but between you and me, he gets so worked up at the thought of being around muggles, that I think he likes to get there early so he can spend just a few minutes watching them. _**

_**Well, goodbye for now Harry, and enjoy your care package. If you would like anything special in the next one, please let me know and I will do my best.**_

_**Love,**_

_**Molly Weasley**_

Harry began to refold the letter and he wondered, not for the first time, if Ron, Ginny, or any of the Weasley children for that matter, realized how truly lucky they were to have such wonderful and caring parents as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

As he set aside Mrs Weasley's note, he realized that he had lost his makeshift bandage during his nap. He was pleased to note that the bleeding had stopped. He casually popped his injured finger into his mouth to moisten it, and scanned his bed for the discarded bandage. Spotting it next to his pillow, he grabbed it and began to swab at the dried blood so he could inspect the cut. His brow wrinkled in confusion as he regarded the spot where Hedwig had bitten him: there was no cut.

_What the hell is going on? _Harry wondered. _There is no way that could completely have healed already. _He gave a frustrated sigh and flopped back onto his bed. His short nap had done nothing to ease his headache so he didn't want to try and solve this particular mystery just now.

Harry was startled from his thoughts when a small grey pigeon flew in through his window and perched on his desk. He was just about to shoo the lost bird back out the window when he noticed that the pigeon had a thin leather strap around its neck that held a pouch of some sort. _A carrier pigeon?_ Harry wondered to himself. He knew that muggles had used them to carry messages during the First World War, but as far as he was aware, they weren't used by wizards.

His curiosity got the better of him and he asked the bird, "Do you have something for me?" The bird just stared blankly at him in response.

He approached the pigeon and carefully opened the pouch on the bird's neck. Harry couldn't imagine what could be in a pouch so small, but as he carefully stuck two fingers into it to probe for the contents. He realized that the small pouch was enchanted to be many times larger on the inside than it appeared. Harry smiled; even after five years in the Wizarding World, magic still surprised him. He removed the contents of the pouch and regarded them carefully. It was a thin, silvery envelope - slightly larger than the two hands he held it in - that appeared to be made of metal rather than paper. 'Master Harry Potter' was embossed on the front in black lettering, and on the reverse, the strange envelope was sealed in wax and stamped with the emblem of Gringotts bank.

Intrigued, Harry quickly broke open the seal of the metallic envelope and upended it, spilling its contents onto his bed. It contained a smaller, normal-looking envelope and a neatly folded sheet of parchment. He picked up the parchment first, and began to read.

_**Harry James Potter,**_

_**Please accept the condolences of Gringotts Wizarding Bank in regards to the recent passing of one Sirius Black. While we here at Gringotts realize that in your time of loss, dealing with Mr. Black's estate may be a particularly distasteful task, we unfortunately find ourselves duty-bound, as the executors of said estate, to see that all matters are dealt with in a timely and efficient manner, in keeping with Mr. Black's final wishes.**_

**_We hereby notify you, that your presence is required on July 15th at one o'clock in the afternoon for the reading of Mr. Black's Last Will and Testament and the distribution of all assets associated with his estate. As Mr. Black's sole heir, it is imperative that you are in attendance at this time, lest legal claims, which Mr. Black expressly desired to avoid, come into play. _**

**_Please find the enclosed letter, which we at Gringotts received from Mr. Black on June 1st of this year, along with instructions that it be delivered to you in the event of his passing. _**

_**May all your dealings be profitable,**_

_**HammerGleam**_

_**Chief Goblin in charge of Hereditary Estates**_

For a long while, Harry just sat in silence holding the letter from Gringotts in his sweaty hands. It was all too much, too soon, and he didn't want to deal with any of it. HammerGleam had been right about that. He carefully picked up the letter Sirius had left him and gently traced the letters of his name, as if trying to force some connection to his godfather, by tracing the marks the man's quill had made on the envelope.

He was afraid of what he might find in Sirius' letter. He was afraid that if he opened it, then Sirius would really be gone, and, if Harry was honest with himself, he wasn't sure that he could deal with that just yet. He was afraid that he wouldn't be able to go on by himself. He had spent most of his life not knowing anything about his parents and what it meant to be loved. Now that he had experienced those things, he felt the pain of their loss that much more clearly.

He was also angry. Yes, he was angry with himself, for being tricked by Voldemort and causing, however indirectly, Sirius' fall. He was angry with the Wizarding World for condemning an innocent man to the Hell on Earth that was Azkaban, without so much as a trial. He was angry with Dumbledore for not doing more to help Sirius, and in turn denying he, Harry the loving home that he should have rightfully had with Sirius. Damn it, he was the most respected wizard in the world, and whether or not he believed in Sirius' innocence, Dumbledore at least should have ensured that he'd stood trial. But what bothered Harry the most was that he was also angry with Sirius for leaving him. He didn't want to be, and he felt terribly guilty about it, but it was the truth.

As Harry sat there, absorbed with a swirl of conflicting and powerful emotions, he made his decision. With a determined sniff, he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes to clear the tears that had begun to pool in them. He would move on, and move beyond this: he had to. He owed it to Sirius, to his parents, to Cedric, and to everyone who had been lost at Voldemort's hand. If it was his destiny to stop the monster, to kill or be killed as it were, then he vowed to himself that he would not allow himself to die until he had seen Voldemort fall once and for all. He had spent many sleepless nights cursing fate, but now he found himself oddly comforted and at peace. His hand might be destined to take life, but, in doing so, it would also be giving life to thousands, and that, that was something he could live with.

Harry pushed his thoughts aside for now. He would deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he had something important to do. It was time for him to say goodbye to a dear friend. With a deep breath, Harry opened the letter and, although a single tear rolled down his cheek, he was smiling as he started to read.

_**Harry,**_

_**If you are reading this, then I am dead. Sorry about being so blunt kiddo, but I have started this letter seven times already and that was the best I could come up with. **_

**_Your father and I once visited a fortuneteller at a carnival during the summer following our seventh year. Now, the woman was an absolute nutter and she predicted such unbelievably asinine things for the two of us that it was nearly impossible… Anyway, I am getting off track, I remember the look of horror on your father's face when the old bat predicted that no matter how hard, or often he tried, he would never produce anything but girls._** **_She also predicted that I would die, either in bed with the Broadmoor triplets or in battle. I rather liked that prediction, and while I always rather hoped to go out with a "BANG" so to speak, seeing as how I haven't seen the Broadmoors_** **_in over eighteen years, I will have to assume that I died, no less heroically mind you, in battle._**

_**Death is a very hard thing to deal with Harry. After your parents were killed, I was angry for a very long time. At first I thought I was angry with Peter and Voldemort, and believe me I was. But once I was in Azkaban, and had more than my fair share of time to think about such things, I realized that I was angry with your parents, for leaving us both alone, and I was also angry with myself, because I never told them what they meant to me. It almost broke me when I came to that realization, after all; I didn't want to be angry with them, I loved them and missed them desperately, but I was. What I wouldn't have given to have five minutes just to say goodbye to them both and to let them know how much they meant to me. I never had the chance, though, and that was one of the reasons that I decided to write you this letter. If the worst were to happen, I wanted us to have a chance to say goodbye, even if the conversation is unfortunately one sided.**_

**_Harry, I know that it is painful, but it is okay to hurt. The pain lets us know that we are still alive and, while it may not feel like it, it does get better with time. It is also okay if you are angry with me, it is, once again a natural part of the healing process. When you are ready, please forgive me for leaving you, but, most importantly, forgive yourself. Face it Harry, I know you well enough to realize that you probably blame yourself, in some way, for whatever happened to me. _**

_**You are a remarkable young man Harry. To have become the man that you are when faced with the hardship that was forced upon you at such a young age is simply inspiring. The too-short moments that I was able to spend with you, getting to know you, meant more to me than you can ever realize. I was dead once before Harry. In Azkaban, I had given up the will to live but for you, the thought of you, that you were somewhere out there needing me. You gave me hope and a reason to fight.**_

_**I am going to try to close this now, not because I want to go, but because I am afraid that I am going to start blubbering uncontrollably at any moment. I just don't think that I'll have the strength to rewrite this letter if my tears ruin it.**_

_**I am so VERY proud of you Harry, and I will never forget you. From the first moment that your mother told your father that she was pregnant with you, you were the apple of their eyes, but you also became the apple of mine. I never had the opportunity to have children of my own, and it was something that I always thought that I would regret when I was faced with my end. But if it comes, I find myself with no regrets. That I was able to find you again, that you were able to open up your heart to me, and that we were able to share what precious little time that God granted us, these are the things that I remember now as I face my death. Harry, you brought joy back into my life, and I want to thank you for that. I love you, Harry.**_

_**With all the Love in this World and the Next,**_

_**Sirius Orion Black**_

"I love you too, Sirius." He was able to choke out as his tears rolled unchecked down his face and he added in a barely audible voice, "And I'll never forget you." before he collapsed back onto his bed and gave in completely as the cathartic sobs overtook him. Harry wasn't sure how long he had lay there, but when his pain finally abated, he realized that it was now dark out. He looked around the room and noticed that Errol was gone and that Hedwig had returned. Hedwig regarded him with concern apparent in her intelligent amber eyes, as she perched on his desk.

Harry got up and wiped his tear-stained face as he walked over to gently stroke Hedwig's soft, white feathers, which she allowed this time. "I'm not there yet, girl," he whispered softly to her, "but I think I'm on my way." He realized that it was the truth, too. He felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

With a cleansing sigh, he walked back over to his bed. He picked up the letter from Sirius, reverently refolded it, and returned it to its envelope before setting it on his nightstand. Harry picked up Mrs. Weasley's letter and envelope, to stow that one as well, but he froze as another, smaller, piece of folded orange parchment fell out of her envelope and floated to the floor. He stared cautiously at the third note as he decided whether or not to open it. It had been a rough, and emotionally trying day so far and Harry wasn't sure how much more he could take.

The Parchment bore the words "OUR DEAR HARRIKINS" on it with each letter apparently written in a different coloured ink. It didn't take a lot of thought on his part to realize that this letter could only be from one person, or in this case people. It was obviously from Fred and George; no one else he knew was as theatrical as those two maniacs. With a deep breath, Harry grabbed the letter off the floor, opened it quickly, and began to read. After all, knowing those two, the letter was likely to turn into some type of maniacal Howler if he left it unopened for too long.

_**Dear Harrikins,**_

_**We hope you don't mind terribly, but we decided to highjack Errol on his way from the Burrow so that we could add our own contribution to Mum's little bundle. G.**_

_**Yes, quite right brother, we thought that we should give you a practical demonstration of just what your generous investment in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes is helping to develop. F.**_

_**Be careful Fred, or you'll end up letting the boggart out of the box too early and ruin the surprise. G.**_

_**Too true brother mine, you have my deepest apologies. Anyway, as I was saying, we have taken the liberty of adding a little something, just for you, to one of Mum's treats. F.**_

_**We assure you that it is nothing dangerous or, too long lasting. It's just a bit of harmless fun. G.**_

_**Are you sure about this George? We did have some inconsistencies during the testing phase. F.**_

_**Now Fred, of course I'm sure, I told you that I was able to balance that out by adding a few more Doxy eggs which... G.**_

_**Yes, but didn't that… F.**_

_**It would have, but, had you let me finish, you would have heard me explain that I fixed that problem by adding a handful of crushed Lacewing flies. G.**_

_**Oh, sorry about that. Anyhow, we should wrap this up because I fear we may have started to ramble just now. F.**_

_**We can't have that, now can we? G.**_

_**No, definitely not. In an effort to ease your probably troubled mind, we promise that we will leave all of Mum's baskets untampered with in the future. F.**_

_**Yes, we will even swear an oath, in the name of all that is good and funny, that this is just a one-time thing. G.**_

_**Do tell use if those relatives of yours are giving you any trouble though. F.**_

_**Yes, we have more than a few products that are in need of further testing, and we can think of no one more deserving than them. G.**_

_**Toodles,**_

_**Fred and George**_

_**P.S. Harry mate, don't tell George I told you, but we tampered with the meat pie. I just didn't feel right about pranking our one and only investor. F.**_

_**P.P.S. Don't tell Fred, but I know he told you about the meat pie. I agree with him in this case, and I would have told you myself if he didn't. G.**_

The colour had drained from Harry's face as he read the note. He stared at the half-eaten meat pie as if it had betrayed him, and hopped up to throw the pie into his waste bin before any further damage could be done. Harry cursed his luck, as he stood deep in thought for a moment, trying to decide what to do. _Typical_, he thought with a rueful shake of his head. _I would have to pick the only thing out of that box that the twins had tampered with_.

Finally, after deciding that the twins would never hurt him intentionally, he resigned himself to the fact that he had little choice now but to ride out whatever storm they had planned for him. With a deep breath, he turned to regard himself in the cracked mirror that hung from the back of his bedroom door. What he saw caused him to gasp in shock. The familiar face that he had been hoping to see was gone. In its place, complete with the hooked nose, beady black eyes, and stringy curtains of greasy black hair, was the reflection of Severus Snape.

Harry stood stock-still for a good five minutes before he brought his hand up to feel his face. The changes felt real too. He really had to hand it to the twins; they were absolute masters at their craft. In fact, if anyone from the wizarding world had walked into his room just then, they would have been extremely confused as to why Professor Snape was in Harry Potter's house, wearing Harry Potter's glasses, and dressed in his cousin Dudley's cast-offs. Some, like Remus Lupin for instance, would have attacked him on the spot, demanding to know what he had done with Harry. At least he was able to take solace in the fact that Snape's skinny frame looked even more pathetic in his cousin's old clothes than he did himself.

The thought of that caused Harry to laugh and run his hand through his hair like he normally did. "Eww," was his response as he jerked his hand away from, not his unruly black hair, but Snape's greasy mop. He held his hand out in front of his face and grimaced at the oily sheen that the brief contact with his hair had left on it. An evil grin crept onto his face - Harry thought it looked particularly fitting on his new face - and he grabbed a towel, veritably skipping out of his room. He had the opportunity to do what countless Hogwarts students had only dreamed of. Yes, today someone was finally going to make Professor Snape wash his hair.

**A/N: Well, here is Chapter 2. Hope you are enjoying the story so far. Thanks to my Beta LucyLupin for her help with this story.**

**EnigmaDecoder **


	3. The God That Failed

**Chapter Three **

**The God that Failed**

Albus sat in the living room of number 12 Grimmauld Place and watched the various members of The Order of the Phoenix mill about, now that the meeting had concluded. "If I could have your attention," he began "I would like to speak with Alastor, Minerva, Remus, and Arthur in the kitchen before they leave. The rest of you are dismissed until the next meeting." He waited until the four members of the Order's inner circle had all entered the kitchen before he followed.

As Albus trailed behind them, he reflected on the night's meeting. The loss of Azkaban earlier that day had been a blow, but not an unexpected one. With the apparent defection of the Dementors, the Ministry simply did not possess the manpower to hold the prison against a determined assault.

Alastor had been particularly outspoken about it. He had demanded that the around-the-clock watch over Harry be cancelled immediately. He wanted to use the manpower that was being 'wasted on the boy', as he put it, to set up a stand-by force of Order members who would be ready to respond at a moment's notice to any report of Death Eater activity. The idea definitely had merit and was worth exploring, but not at the expense of Harry's protection. Dumbledore hoped that Alastor would understand that in a few moments.

The only other revelation at the meeting had come from Arthur Weasley. Apparently, his son Percy had come to see him at the Ministry earlier in the day. After a brief reconciliation, Percy came to the real point of his visit. Minister Fudge had done a complete turnaround now that he could no longer deny Voldemort's return. Through Percy, Arthur had learned that Fudge was going to be holding a press conference tomorrow to announce his comprehensive plan for combating the threat of Voldemort.

It was a very subtle but encouraging political move on the Minister's part. He was using Percy as a back channel, of sorts, to 'unofficially' inform the Headmaster of his plan of action. By showing his hand in this manner, he was allowing Dumbledore time to make any suggestions he felt necessary before delivering his address. He had to admit: most of what the Minister had planned would be very helpful to those who opposed Voldemort.

Minister Fudge was planning to recall all former Aurors to active duty, and speed up the enrolment and training processes at the Auror Academy. He also planned to institute a series of impressive bounties for those who signed on to hunt known Death Eaters and other dark wizards. His hope was that the promise of gold would lure many enterprising foreign wizards to the country to bolster the Ministry's ranks.

Albus had mixed feelings about the influx of skilled Hit Wizards sure to enter the country after this announcement. As long as they remained on the Ministry's side, they were sure to be a good thing. The problem was that those who fought for money had no real allegiance to those for whom they worked.

Lord Voldemort had the wealth of several old and prominent families at his disposal. If he were to offer them more than the Ministry was able to pay, Albus feared many would have no qualms about joining the Dark Lord. He was planning on suggesting to Fudge that those who registered for the bounties be forced to give an Unbreakable Vow that they would never work for Voldemort.

Probably the most encouraging thing to come from Arthur's meeting with his son was Fudge's promise to use Veritaserum, in conjunction with interrogation by a skilled Legimens, on all suspected Death Eaters who were apprehended. While it is possible that a properly prepared wizard who was skilled in Occlumency could defeat these measures, this would still be a vast improvement on the current situation. He was also promising to allow the information gained in these interrogations to be admissible in court.

Minister Fudge's reasoning for this was simple and logical. These measures would make it very difficult for those on trial to claim that they had been placed under the Imperius Curse and been acting against their will. While not a perfect solution by any means, Albus felt that this measure would help to ensure that those captured were guilty before they were sentenced. They couldn't change the past, but they could learn from it.

There was little doubt that Minister Fudge was mostly looking out for his own interests with these forthcoming announcements. His motivations were self-serving, but Dumbledore felt that the measures he was proposing would do a lot of good in the coming struggle against Voldemort.

At a throat-clearing noise from Minerva, Albus returned roughly to the present. Inviting those in attendance to sit, he carefully erected the most powerful anti-eavesdropping wards he could. The information that he was about to pass on was very sensitive, and he didn't want it going beyond those in this room. With his protections now in place, he turned and regarded his closest advisors who were sitting patiently, waiting for him to begin.

"My friends," Albus began. "I have asked you to remain behind because I have important information that I feel I must now share with you. I can no longer be the sole guardian of this knowledge. We are at war, and in a war, none of us is safe, not even myself." He ignored the various murmurs of dissent that circled the table in response to his last comment, and continued speaking.

"I am sorry, my friends, but it is the simple truth of our current situation. When I duelled with Lord Voldemort at the Ministry, I was nearly killed by an Avada Kedavra that caught me unawares. Regardless of how skilled any of us are in battle, we are only one wrong decision, or mis-step, away from our deaths.

"The war that we are embroiled in will determine the fate of our world for years to come. The information I am about to share with you will be the ultimate deciding factor in this conflict. As such, it would be extremely short-sighted of me to believe too much in my own invulnerability. I must prepare for the possibility that I may fall in this war. It will be your task, as the Order's inner circle, to carry on the fight if I do fall. It is my desire that you be equipped with the knowledge that will allow you to triumph in this struggle.

"Please watch what I am about to show you very closely." Dumbledore said, as he placed his Pensieve on the table and activated it. Those seated at the table recognized the ghostly image of Sibyll Trelawney that appeared above the device and focused on her intently as she began to speak in a rough voice that was not her own.

_**The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ... **_

Dumbledore watched the faces of those gathered as they listened to the Prophecy. They all registered varying degrees of denial, shock, and dismay at what they had just heard. He sat patiently at the head of the table and waited for the inevitable questions to begin. He wasn't surprised that Alastor Moody was the first to recover.

"Well Albus," the grizzled old Auror began. "This explains why you have always been so obstinate whenever I suggest removing Potter's protection detail. Had I known your reasons, I would have agreed with you all along."

"Thank you old friend," Albus responded.

Moody nodded his head in response and said, "I think that we should make plans to double Potter's guard. I understand that the Blood Wards around his relatives' home are very strong, and that no wizard who means him harm can touch him there. Unfortunately, given enough time, any ward can be defeated. I say that we should expect the worst, and prepare for it."

"That is a prudent idea Alastor" Albus answered. "If you would remain behind after the others leave, I have another matter that I would like to talk through with you. We can also discuss your safety concerns for Harry in greater detail."

"Albus, how can this be true?" Minerva asked with disbelief evident in her voice. "Potter is just a boy. Prophecy or not, you cannot believe that he is capable of defeating Voldemort. In the years that he has been my student, he has definitely shown promise, but he has constantly failed to live up to it. He certainly has not shown a hint of any great _power_ that is capable of vanquishing the Dark Lord."

"I … wouldn't be so sure of that Minerva" Remus tentatively answered. He still found it difficult to deal with his former Professor as an equal, after so many years as her student. "When I taught Harry back in his third year, he showed an impressive aptitude for defence. Also, he managed to produce a corporeal Patronus at thirteen years of age. As we all know, this is a feat than many adult wizards are incapable of. I think you are selling him rather short."

"Honestly, Remus," countered Minerva in a slightly condescending tone which caused Remus to bristle with resentment, "I think you are allowing your personal feelings for Harry to cloud your judgment. I know that you see him as a link to your lost friends, but you must _try_ to look at this objectively."

"I _am_ looking at this objectively Minerva!" Remus veritably spat back at her as rose from the table and glared at her fiercely. "And this has _nothing_ to do with Sirius, James, and Lily. I was merely stating my impressions of Harry from when I taught him. I haven't been your student for a long time Minerva, and I would appreciate it if you would refrain from talking to me like one in the future."

Dumbledore saw the angry flush that was creeping up Minerva's neck and he could tell she was only seconds from launching back a cutting remark at Remus. While Remus was normally very even-tempered, since Sirius' death, he had been very quick to anger. Albus felt that he needed to step in and end this argument before it escalated any further. After all, it did them no good to argue amongst themselves.

"Please" Albus said with authority. "We gain nothing by this pointless bickering. You _both_ make logical points. Let us all calm down and approach this rationally."

"Remus you were correct when you said that Harry's ability to conjure a Patronus and his talent for defence are good signs." Albus saw the first traces of a smirk beginning to form on Remus' face so he was quick to add, "And Minerva was also correct when she stated that, although Harry has shown flashes of brilliance over the years, his abilities have not grown too much beyond what one would expect from a student of his age. She was also correct when she stated that he would have no chance, at this moment, of defeating Voldemort. Moving forward, I believe that our goals with regard to Harry should be twofold."

"First, and most importantly, we must protect him from Voldemort. He remains safe at his relatives' for the time being, but it is not a good environment for him. I am sure you have all heard stories of how he is treated there and I do not feel the need to rehash them. Once the Blood Protection has had a chance to renew itself, we will need to make plans to move him elsewhere."

"Moving him here to Grimmauld Place would be the safest course of action, but I don't think it would be good for his well-being to be confined here so soon after Sirius' death. Harry remains a boy, and like most boys his age I think some fresh air and time spent with friends will do wonders for his state of mind. If we can ensure his safety, I would like to see him moved to the Burrow."

"Alastor, I would like you to begin making a preliminary evaluation of the Burrow and its grounds. I want a detailed report of all the current wards, and suggestions on how they may be improved." In response, Moody grimly nodded his head.

"Arthur, I want you to help Alastor with this. I am sure that no one knows your home better than you. I think it would be wise for us to enlist your son William in this process as well. His knowledge of Egyptian wards may prove very useful."

Albus cast a concerned glance towards Arthur when he finished addressing him. He seemed to be taking the news of the Prophecy worse than Albus had expected. His face was very pale and he stared ahead blankly. A slight nod of his head was the only indication that showed Albus that he had been heard.

"Moving on to our second goal" Albus said, as he turned his attention back to the others. "We must find some way to awaken the power within Harry that the Prophecy speaks of."

"Remus, I would like you to return to Hogwarts to once again fill the DADA position." Albus held his hand up towards Remus to forestall the arguments that he knew the man was about present. Remus bit his tongue at this signal from the Headmaster and allowed him to continue.

"You are the best Defence teacher that we have had at Hogwarts for many years. Beyond that, you were able to teach Harry the Patronus Charm when you were last there. He likes you, and he obviously responds well to your teaching style. It is my hope that you can continue to develop his skills and find a way to tap into his hidden power."

"Now, as to the objections that I know you have about returning. Whatever your personal feelings on the matter, I want you to understand this. I _need_ you to do this Remus. As to any concerns that others may have about your status as a werewolf, you just leave them to me. I daresay that after everything that the Ministry pulled last year, they owe me one and will not put up much of a fuss over the matter."

"Will you help me in this, Remus?" Albus asked, imploringly. He could see the inner turmoil that the man was going through, but he allowed him time to make up his mind.

"Headmaster," Remus answered him hesitantly, "it would be an honour to return to Hogwarts and teach again." His response pleased Albus greatly. He was also pleased to see, for the first time since Sirius had died, an honest smile form on the man's face.

"That leaves you, Minerva. As Harry's Head of House, I would like you to take a more active role in his life. Give him the occasional prod in the right direction when he needs it. His self-esteem has always been rather low and I think that you can help him with that. I would like you to make him Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain this year."

"I had already planned on offering it to him" she answered Dumbledore.

"Wonderful" he responded, continuing his speech. "While it is too soon for me to have seen Harry's O.W.L results, Minerva, I would like you to prepare for the possibility that he may not have done as well as we would have hoped. You offered to help him with his dream of becoming an Auror and, I would like you to follow through with your promise.

"I think it is good for him to have a goal, as it allows him to look to the future, rather than dwell solely on his pending confrontation with Voldemort. I would even like you to go so far as to tutor Harry in any subjects that his marks preclude him from taking with his classmates. With your help, I hope that he will still be able to sit for the N.E.W.T. exams that the Auror Academy requires.

"Of course Albus," Minerva answered, "I will do whatever I can to help Harry along."

"Thank you, Minerva" he said with a wink, and he turned to address the entire group again.

"That is all that I needed to discuss with you this evening. I am certain that I don't need to remind any of you how vital it is that the knowledge of the Prophecy stays out of Voldemort's hands. I will ask that Alastor remain behind for a moment, but the rest of you may return to your homes for the evening. Be safe my friends."

Arthur was the first out the door after Dumbledore released his wards. Remus and Minerva stood and faced each other awkwardly. They simultaneously blurted out an apology for the angry words they had exchanged earlier. With a curt handshake, all seemed to be forgiven between them and they too, left the kitchen.

Alone with Alastor, Dumbledore got down to business. "Alastor, I would like to suggest to the Minister that they implement your plan for a standby force that can respond immediately to Death Eater attacks. It would mean a vast improvement in their current response time. The Order simply does not have the manpower to make this work. Tell me old friend, how do you suggest we go about this?"

Albus waited patiently for his answer, until he realized that Moody hadn't been listening to him in the first place. His magical eye, which normally was in constant motion as it searched for threats, was focused at the kitchen wall observing something going on in the rest of the house.

"Alastor?" he asked with an exasperated sigh, "What is it? You know how I hate it when you do that while I am talking to you."

With a grunt, both of Moody's eyes focused on the Headmaster as he explained, "I'm sorry Albus, but Snape just arrived. It looked like that snake was giving Arthur and then Remus a hard time about one thing or the other."

"Ah yes, I have been expecting him. Voldemort called a meeting tonight and Severus is here to make his report. Forgive me Alastor, but we will have to continue this discussion later. Come to Hogwarts tomorrow morning and we will talk then."

Moody stood with a grunt of exertion and walked to the door. "I will see you first thing tomorrow, then," he growled over his shoulder as he headed from the room.

Severus Snape strode determinedly into the kitchen as soon as the ex-Auror had left. He took his wand and cast two quick spells on the door to lock it and give them some privacy. Turning to regard Dumbledore with a hard glare, he asked him coldly, "Is it true Headmaster?"

"Is what true, Severus?" Albus answered as he slid out a chair from the table to offer a seat to the obviously agitated man.

Snape ignored the offered chair and continued, "The Prophecy, Headmaster. Is it true?"

"But, how d..." Albus began in a suddenly concerned tone.

He was cut off almost immediately by Snape's angry voice. "I lifted the information from that idiot Weasley's feeble brain. I assure you that I did not mean to, but the fool was in such an emotional uproar over the matter that he was nearly broadcasting his thoughts about the room. I read them as easily as I would have read the recipe for a Swelling Solution. Please Headmaster, I must know. Is it true?"

Albus leaned back in his chair and seemed to visibly shrink as his shoulders slumped in resignation. He blew out a sigh and said simply, "Sit Severus."

Snape realized that this was not a request and obeyed. Once seated, he kept his black eyes locked on Dumbledore and waited for his explanation.

For a long while, Albus did nothing but stare at the table in front of him. Finally, as if coming to a decision, he produced his Pensieve and placed it on the table. Without a word, he tapped his wand on the rim of the device. Almost immediately, the ghostly image of a much younger Sibyll Trelawney appeared and began to speak.

Albus watched Snape closely as the man listened to the recitation of the Prophecy. Beyond the slight clenching of his jaw, Snape's face showed no reaction to what he was hearing. As the ghostly image finished speaking and disappeared back into the Pensieve, he waited patiently for Snape's expected tirade.

Snape rose from the table in a rush and knocked his chair clattering to the floor. He was breathing heavily as he stepped back and attempted to process what he had just heard. Sibyll's words echoed repeatedly through his head.

"**_Will mark him as an equal," "Power to defeat the Dark Lord," "Either must die by the hand of the other." _**

After a moment, Snape's breathing slowed and his gaze fixed on Albus who still sat watching him. "So it is true, then," Snape began, no emotion present in his voice. "Fate has chosen her champion, and the world will fall for her choice. Headmaster, there _must_ be some other way. Potter is _at best_ an average student, and he possesses _no_ power that is capable of defeating the Dark Lord."

He paused for a moment as he returned his upended chair to its feet and resumed his seat at the table. "That is," he continued; sarcasm heavy in his voice, "unless you consider the boy's flagrant disregard for authority and rampant rule-breaking capable of bringing history's most powerful Dark Wizard to his knees."

"Please, Severus," Albus said in a tired, exasperated voice as he cut off the man's rant before it could gather any further steam. "You are not helping matters. As you have just witnessed, the information that you acquired from Arthur is very true. I am disappointed that you would invade his mind the way you did, but nothing can be done about it now."

"Headmaster, Weasley is a liability," Snape spat "why did you reward him with a place in the Order's inner circle? His emotional attachment to Potter is a weakness. If he had this loss of control in front of the wrong person at the Ministry, the Dark Lord would learn of the Prophecy. There is too much at stake. I do not see how you can afford to take such a risk"

"Really, Severus," Albus shot back angrily, "I would expect that _you_ of all people would understand how deceiving appearances can be. Arthur is our single greatest source of information within the Ministry. He appears quiet, unassuming, and yes, even eccentric, but this is, in all actuality, a ruse. Arthur is a very astute and competent individual.

"Were it not for my request that he remain in his current position, he would have advanced to a much higher position within the Ministry by now. Arthur is well liked by his peers and known to most who work within the Ministry. This fact, along with his considerable skill at Legilimency, allows him to gain carefully guarded information quite easily. He has sacrificed much for our cause, and he deserves your respect.

"Honestly Severus" he continued in a more chastising tone, observing the sceptical look on the Potion Master's face. "Certainly you are not so vain as to think that you are the _only_ spy that the Order employs. And yes, before you ask, Arthur is quite skilled in the mental arts. I instructed him, much as I did you. I will speak with Arthur soon about the necessity of keeping his Occlumency shields intact at all times, but he knows what is at stake here, and I have full confidence in his abilities. The matter is now closed for discussion, so let us move on."

"Of course, sir," Snape answered, taking the rebuke in stride.

"I must stress to you how vital it is that the Prophecy stays out of Voldemort's hands" Albus resumed.

"Headmaster," Snape countered, "you know better than anyone that the Dark Lord can't penetrate my mind. The knowledge is safe with me."

Dumbledore nodded his head in agreement as Snape continued speaking. "What is to be done about Potter?"

"Severus, I will need you to continue Harry's lessons in Occlumency when the school year starts."

"But Headmaster," Snape retorted in disbelief, "you can't be serious! Potter is too dense to grasp even the most basic principles of the art. His lack of progress this past year is proof of that. Besides, as you are well aware, our shared history is less than stellar. It is no secret that I despise the brat with a passion and he feels the same towards me. I don't see what you intend to gain from this. You must realize that further lessons between the two of us will only result in failure."

"Yes, I am well aware of the mutual enmity that you and Harry share," the wizened man responded. "And, I admit that I could have easily found another instructor – one who does not bear a grudge against Harry - to teach him Occlumency. So I ask you Severus, why would I, instead, insist that you be the one to teach him?"

Snape stared blankly at the Headmaster for a moment before he answered. "I am sorry sir, but I don't understand."

Albus sighed as he regarded the man before him. He had hoped that the Head of Slytherin House would have been able to put together the clues he had given him. "Severus," he asked, hoping Snape would put the pieces together this time, "if I could have found a teacher for Harry's lessons who was better suited to the task, why would I insist that _you_ give them?"

Again, Snape stared blankly ahead until a sudden spark of realization caused an evil smile to find its way onto his sallow features. "You never intended for the boy to learn Occlumency at all, did you?"

"No, I did not," Albus confirmed. "The information that Harry is receiving through his connection with Voldemort is important to our cause. It would be foolish of me to cut off such a valuable source of intelligence. This is war, Severus, and we are all required make sacrifices. Harry most of all. I am afraid that the discomfort that the boy feels due to his visions is a necessary evil.

"You were quite correct when you said that Harry does not possess the power to defeat Voldemort at this time. However, the Prophecy clearly states that he _does_ have this power. It has become my primary goal to find a way to awaken his power, but nothing I have attempted so far has borne fruit. I feel that we must resort to more – unorthodox methods.

"This is the reason why I insisted that you give him Occlumency lessons. I counted on a certain… friction, between the two of you. It is my hope, that by continuing to subject Harry to your company - under the pretext of these lessons - we can force his true power to manifest itself. Now that you understand my intentions, I trust that you will use every means at your disposal to help bring about the result that we desire."

Snape regarded the man in front of him with newfound respect. If he understood correctly, he had basically been given free rein to mistreat his least favourite student in the hope that he would somehow trigger the power that the Prophecy spoke of. It was a very Slytherin way to approach the problem, and Severus could not help but admire that.

"You can count on me, Headmaster," was his response. Snape couldn't keep the smirk of anticipation from his face. He was surprised to find that - for the first time in his career - he was looking forward to the coming school year.

"Wonderful!" Albus responded brightly. "Shall we move on then?"

Snape nodded as Dumbledore conjured a tea service and poured them each a cup. He accepted his grudgingly as Albus started to debrief him. "What information do you have for me about the meeting that Voldemort summoned you to this evening?"

Snape took a sip of his tea as he listened to Dumbledore. He successfully hid his grimace at the taste of the fruity and sweet beverage that the Headmaster had given him. Dumbledore knew that he liked his tea strong and bitter, but he always provided some horrible herbal/fruit fusion instead. Snape imagined that Dumbledore must take perverse pleasure in providing him a beverage that he knew he hated. He always seemed to take a great deal of delight in bringing 'a wonderful new tea' for him to try.

"The meeting was quite enlightening," Snape began, as he pushed his previous thoughts aside.

"As you are no doubt aware, The Dark Lord attacked Azkaban today and freed those Death Eaters who have been in custody since their apprehension at the Ministry. Pettigrew led the assault on Azkaban with 6 newly initiated Death Eaters. These few were more than enough to crack the prison once the Dementors switched sides. All Aurors on the island are reported to have been killed."

"Yes, I informed the Order that the prison had fallen this evening," Albus stated, "Do continue, Severus."

"Apparently, the Dark Lord also initiated two new Death Eaters into his ranks. While this may not seem overly important, both of the men were muggles, according to Lucius."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore responded as he leaned forward, suddenly very interested in Snape's report.

"I was not present at the initiation," Snape continued, "but according to Lucius, it was rather… exciting. As you might expect, several of those present at the time took offence to the idea of muggles being allowed into their midst and they attacked them. The two muggles reacted rather… harshly to the threat. According to Lucius, the two muggles are quite deadly. In the few seconds that the confrontation lasted, both Crabbe and Goyle were neutralized and Antonin Dolohov was killed."

Dumbledore's feathery white eyebrows raised in surprise, as his face darkened at this revelation. If Snape noticed, he didn't show it and continued his report.

"While I can't be sure of this, I believe that Lucius was also involved in the melee. He appeared to be in some pain during our conversation and I caught what appeared to be the first signs of a bruise forming on his wand hand."

"I suspect that you are correct in your assumptions about Lucius" Dumbledore agreed. "I find it highly unlikely that Crabbe and Goyle would ever act without Malfoy's prodding. No doubt his pride prevented him from admitting that he was bested by muggles. This is most disturbing news. What more can you tell me about them?"

"Sir," Snape answered, "after the meeting, they allegedly accompanied a group of ten Death Eaters on a raid. Apparently, the Baddock family refused the Dark Lord's offer to join him, so they were to be made an example of. Beyond that, I have nothing concrete to report. There is to be another full meeting tomorrow night. I expect that I will have more answers for you at that time."

"Very well, Severus," he replied, "till tomorrow, then. Be safe, my friend."

Snape rose and headed for the door. He casually lifted the spells he had placed and made to leave.

"Oh, I nearly forgot" Albus called after him. "I have discovered a new type of tea that I am sure you will just love. It is supposed to have just a hint of raspberry in it. I will bring some for our meeting tomorrow evening."

Snape couldn't help the slight tightening of his shoulders as he heard the Headmaster's parting remark. Determined to give the Headmaster no further indication that his comment had bothered him, he strode determinedly from the kitchen. Before the door shut behind him, he was certain that he heard soft laughter coming from the Headmaster.

A/N: Here is Chapter Three. Hope you have enjoyed the story so far. Thanks to my wonderful Beta LucyLupin for her help with the story, and thank you all for reading.

EnigmaDecoder


	4. Until the End

**Chapter Four**

**Until the End**

Lord Voldemort sat serenely at his desk. He gently swirled a heavy crystal goblet in his left hand and watched as the heavy red liquid circled the glass. In the low light of the room, the liquid in his glass could easily be mistaken for blood instead of the fine, aged Port that it was. As he savoured his wine, he carefully organized his thoughts from the night's meeting

The report about the previous night's attack on the Baddock family had been disconcerting, but not unexpected. His Death Eaters, who had gone on the raid, claimed a total victory, as the family had been wiped out. However, the Hofis brothers, who had been sent along to observe how his Death Eaters operated, were less than impressed by what they had witnessed.

According to them, the attack on the Baddocks had been sloppy and poorly executed. None of his men understood their individual responsibilities, and they had rushed the home like a disorganized mob.

In their arrogance, Voldemort's men had underestimated the Baddocks and they were caught off guard when the mother and father fought back. In the ensuing fight, one of his Death Eaters had been killed and another had been seriously injured.

Once the brief fight was over, his men had argued amongst themselves for the honour of torturing and killing the family. This further delay allowed time for a squad of Aurors to Apparate in and engage his men as they were casting the Dark Mark over the burning home. This unnecessary fight had cost him the life of another of his men.

Voldemort simply could not afford stupid losses like these. While his forces had been bolstered by the recent attack on Azkaban, his men were still vastly outnumbered. His best estimate put his disadvantage in the neighbourhood of twenty to one.

While the numbers were definitely against him, he did have an ace up his sleeve. When they were ready, his men would be able to strike quickly and quietly anywhere in the country while the Ministry and Dumbledore's pathetic group stumbled about blindly trying to protect everyone.

His Death Eaters, especially the newer crop, needed training in working together before his plans could move forward. This was the main reason that Voldemort had recruited the Hofis brothers. The two men were highly skilled and were used to operating in small groups behind enemy lines. It was going to be their responsibility to train his Death Eaters and they had promised him that by the time they were finished, his men would be the among the most dangerous and feared groups in the world. When his men were ready, his reign of terror would truly begin.

The measures that Fudge had called for at the press conference that he had held today could spell trouble for him, but he doubted it would be anything major. The changes that Fudge had proposed were drastic. Fortunately for him, they would be tied up in governmental wrangling and debates for the foreseeable future.

One thing was certain, though: Fudge had outlived his usefulness. While his constant denials had helped hide Voldemort's return for over a year and had allowed him time to consolidate his power, once Voldemort was spotted at the Ministry, the jig, as they said, was up. Voldemort knew that an enemy was never as dangerous as when he had nowhere left to run. Fudge had reached that point now. With his error in judgment revealed for all to see, he was now backed into a corner, and he was fighting for his political life.

Voldemort decided that it was time for Fudge to go. He was going to cut off the government's head, and watch as the body stumbled blindly about and attempted to pick up the pieces. It would buy him time for his men to train and allow him to continue to build his strength while he planned his next move.

Voldemort had spoken with the Hofis brothers after tonight's meeting and they had assured him that Fudge would be dead by the end of the week. He silently congratulated himself on his foresight. Bringing 'The Hand' into his ranks had been a particularly brilliant move on his part. Now that they were marked, he had even begun to refer to them as 'His Hand.'

With a sigh of satisfaction, Voldemort finished the last of his wine and reached for the fist-sized lump of quartz that sat on the desk in front of him. As he sat his empty glass down, he couldn't help the chill of excitement that he felt every time he went through Snape's stolen memories. Without another thought, he allowed his mind to dive into the stone in search of the secrets it hid.

* * *

Harry woke with a start and almost tumbled out of his small bed. He was drenched in a cold sweat that made the thin sheet that he was wrapped up in cling to him in a very uncomfortable manner. He grabbed the offending sheet and tore it off so that it fell in a lump onto the floor. Harry never would have thought that he would miss the absence of his nightly trips into Voldemort's mind, but he was finding the dreams that his own subconscious produced to be nearly as disturbing.

With a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, he groped blindly for his glasses. Once he had them in place, he flicked on his lamp and glanced at his broken alarm clock for a clue as to what time it was. As usual, the only information that his clock was able to provide was that it was AM. He took a quick glance out his window and saw, by the gentle brightening of the night sky, that the sun was about to rise.

_Well,_ Harry thought with a rueful shake of his head, _no sense trying to get back to sleep now. I might as well take a shower and do some studying. _He stood up, grabbed his bath towel, water glass, and a clean pair of boxers and quietly padded out of his room towards the shower.

Twenty minutes later, a much-refreshed Harry Potter left the bathroom and ran smack dab into Uncle Vernon. His uncle glared menacingly at him and muttered under his breath about the cost of hot water as he entered the now vacant loo and slammed the door behind him.

Harry continued on his way back to his room, casually whistling an annoying advertising jingle that had become lodged in his head on the trip back from King's Cross yesterday. He shut his bedroom door and was taking a sip of water when his world suddenly exploded. Searing pain lanced through his scar as it burst open and sprayed a fine mist of blood onto the floor. He collapsed to the floor in agony and he was vaguely aware of a popping sound as the glass he was drinking from shattered under his body weight. He hissed in pain through clenched teeth as he violently pressed a hand to his scar in a vain attempt to stem the overwhelming agony he felt. As he struggled to maintain consciousness, he heard Voldemort's sinister laughter echoing in his mind.

_Hello Harry_, Voldemort spoke into his mind, his voice gentle and laced with false sincerity. _I just received something that I have desired for a long time and I thought it would only be right that I share it with you. After all these years, I have finally discovered the full wording of the Prophecy that the two of us share. I wanted to let you know that it shall be fulfilled today. Are you as excited as I am?_

_N-NO! _Harry mentally screamed at the voice in his head. _Get out of my head you b-bastard! _Despite his defiance, Harry was beginning to panic. He needed to get up, to run, to get help, anything. But the pain from his scar was too much for him, and he couldn't even force himself off the floor. He began to despair. He couldn't fight this, the pain was too much for him to handle. A large part of him felt like just giving up, right here and now. If he would just give up, then it would all be over. There would be no more pain, if he just let go and allowed death to claim him now; he would be free. He would find the peace in death that he had been denied in life.

Harry almost gave up and let death take him there on his bedroom floor, but he noticed a slight tickle in his head and he realized that these weren't his thoughts; Voldemort had planted them in his mind.

Harry felt something snap inside him and his unbreakable spirit returned. He focused all the anger, grief, and rage that had been bottled up inside him, and he began to fight back. To his surprise, the pain that he felt through his connection to Voldemort began to decrease, and he slowly fought his way to his feet.

_Oh Harry_, Voldemort whispered again in his head. _This is what I love about you. You always fight so hard, never willing to give an inch, regardless of the odds against you. Please forgive my crude attempt at deception, but I hope you realize that I had to at least try._

_Over the past fifteen years, I have dreamt of little more than slowly crushing the life from your body with my bare hands. You can't even begin to imagine how bitter I am that now that your end is at hand; I am unable to be there to feel the last breath leave your body._ _The Blood wards prev-_

_FUCK YOU!_ Harry screamed back at Voldemort across their shared connection. He dropped sharply back to his knees as a fresh wave of pain rolled over him.

_Manners, Harry_, Voldemort chided. _It_ _is impolite to interrupt when someone is speaking to you. Given the pressure you are under at the moment, I will forgive you. Now, as I was saying before your last outburst, the wards around your relatives' home prevent me, and, for that matter, any wizard who means you harm, from entering your home._

_However, and this is the best part Harry, they have no effect at all on Muggles. If they did, I dare say that your dear Uncle would have found himself unable to enter his own home after they had taken you in all those years ago. Isn't the irony of this situation absolutely delicious? That fool Dumbledore placed you here where you would be safe from the reach of me and mine. How utterly fitting is it that the same Muggles that he champions and protects are going to bring about the death of his precious golden boy?_

_Believe me Harry; I am truly sorry that things have to end this way. If the circumstances had been different, you and I could have achieved such great things together. I know that you are scared Harry, but don't worry, it will all be over soon. Your executioners will be there momentarily. _

_As a final token of my respect for you, I have ordered that they make your death quick and painless, and I promise that I will stay with you until the end. Harry, despite our mutual enmity, you don't deserve to die alone and surrounded by strangers._

Harry fought desperately to tune out Voldemort's mocking voice as he once again struggled to his feet. He felt a strange sensation rising through his chest and up into his head. It felt like a cross between a mild electrical charge and bubbles of carbonation. The more he concentrated on this new sensation, the stronger it grew. As this feeling began to grow stronger, he was relieved to find that the pain he felt through his scar was decreasing.

While Harry had no idea what was going on here, he wasn't about to question his good luck. He knew that he needed to act quickly. He needed to warn the Order and get ready to hold off the soon-to-be-arriving Death Eaters until help had a chance to arrive. The only problem was that he could not do anything while he was still locked in his mental struggle with Voldemort. If he was to survive past the next few moments, he needed to break the connection.

Since the strange sensation he felt rising in him seemed to be fighting down the pain, Harry concentrated on it with his entire being. He felt it grow until it his body was practically pulsating with this strange energy. With a great mental shriek, he pushed with everything he had at his scar connection.

With a great deal of satisfaction, Harry felt something give. For a second, he thought that he had severed the link. However, before he could relax, he felt the energy that had been rising in his body burst forth in a rush of power that launched his psyche from his body. With a feeling of unimaginable speed, his mind's eye flashed across the invisible thread of the connection as it drew him unerringly towards Voldemort.

For a brief moment, Harry felt surprise and fear emanating from Voldemort's mind as he crashed into it. With no small amount of satisfaction, he realized that his parents' murderer was now the one who was screaming in agony. Almost immediately after they started, the screams vanished as the connection finally snapped, and Harry found his mind once again thrust back into his body.

Harry opened his eyes for the first time since Voldemort's mental assault to find himself on his hands and knees in a quickly expanding pool of blood. A shard of glass, from the tumbler he had broken when the attack began, had been shoved clean through his right hand when he had crumbled to his knees for the first time. The small pulses of blood pumping from the wound, in time with the frantic hammering of his heart, made it apparent to him that he had severed a fairly major blood vessel in his hand.

Harry didn't have time to worry about this little complication though. With a mighty heave, he forced himself to feet and wobbled unsteadily for a few seconds. The adrenalin that was flooding his system fought a battle for dominance against the fatigue he felt from his mental struggle, and the heavy blood loss he had experienced. Fighting through the black haze that was clouding his vision, he lurched towards his desk and snatched up his wand in his left hand.

_To Hell with the underage magic restrictions_, Harry thought distractedly. _This will be my third offence, so maybe I'll get lucky and they'll send Aurors to arrest me straight away._

The Vanishing Charm that he produced was a little awkward, because he was forced to use his off hand for the spell, but it did the trick and the shard of glass disappeared from his hand. Harry nearly swooned again when blood began to freely pour out of now gaping wound in his hand. Thinking quickly, he brought his bleeding hand down onto a blank sheet of parchment on his desk before removing it to wrap it tightly in his still wet bath towel. He only hoped the makeshift bandage would help stop the bleeding.

Harry snatched up the parchment that was now adorned with his bloody handprint and called Hedwig over to him. He folded the parchment in half and placed it in Hedwig's waiting beak. He had no time to write a letter to the Order, but he was sure that this would do the trick.

"Get help quick, girl!" Harry shouted in near panic. Seeing the state her master was in, she was out the window in a flash. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he was in serious trouble. The blackness was once again encroaching on his vision, he was very dizzy, and he was certain he was only seconds away from vomiting. If help didn't arrive soon, he doubted that he would even be able to defend himself.

Harry's heart sank even further when he heard a rapid-fire series of cracks that could only be the sounds of Apparating wizards. For a brief second, he thought that the Order had arrived. However, the sudden unearthly chill that swept over him dashed his hopes. He knew this feeling only too well; Dementors had returned to Privet Drive.

Almost in slow motion, Harry looked out his window and saw them. There were maybe a dozen black robed Death Eaters and twice that many Dementors circling around them. He saw a flash of green, which could only be the Killing Curse, spring from the group of Wizards and rocket into the sky. He couldn't imagine what the curse had been aimed at until he saw a ball of white feathers fall out of the sky.

"_Hedwig!"_ Harry screamed futilely. He never saw her hit the ground though, because the blackness finally overcame his vision and he felt himself falling backwards. His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him, was how his near constant companion and friend over the past five years was gone.

* * *

Dedalus Diggle was not a fighter, but he had joined the Order of the Phoenix during Voldemort's first rise to power because he felt that he could help. He volunteered to baby-sit the Potter boy because it would free up some of the more battle-hardened members of the Order for more dangerous assignments. Plus, it didn't hurt that this seemed to be a very cushy assignment. According to Dumbledore, the wards protecting the boy at his aunt and uncle's home were very strong, and they would prevent any wizard who meant to harm Harry from even setting foot on the property. His job was simply to sit safely inside the wards and watch the house through the night. He even carried a medallion that would summon the majority of the Order in case trouble appeared.

To say the least, Dedalus was shocked when twelve Death Eaters and a large group of Dementors appeared in front of number 4 Privet Drive. His first instinct was to make a break for it, but he remembered that he was safe behind the wards and nervously removed his medallion and sent the emergency signal to the Order. All he had to do now was be patient until the cavalry could arrive.

When two men dressed in muggle fatigues broke from the Death Eater ranks and almost casually strolled through the ward line and approached the front door, Dedalus froze briefly. The flash of a Killing Curse from one of the Death Eaters outside the wards and a scream that echoed out of the house spurred him into action. Safely under his invisibility cloak, he took the most careful aim that his shaking hand would allow and cast the deadliest blasting curse he could manage at the two men.

Unfortunately for Dedalus, the two men dove out of the way as soon as the blue spell light started towards them. His spell, which had missed its target, impacted on the sidewalk and sprayed fragments of concrete and dirt into the air. As he searched through the cloud of debris for the two men, he saw a spherical object arching through the air towards his position and he quickly threw up a Protego shield to intercept it.

He was about to send another spell at the men when the sphere struck his shield and burst in a brilliant flash of light followed immediately by a very loud bang. Blinded, and temporarily disorientated, he stumbled backwards and didn't notice as his cloak caught on the hedge behind him and he appeared in full view of the two killers. Dedalus Diggle died seconds later when a slug from a .44 Magnum tunnelled a path through his brain.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody were just sitting down to begin the discussion that had been delayed by Snape's arrival the previous evening, when the alert medallions that both men wore sang out a warning note. Dumbledore tried to suppress the feeling of dread that was descending over him as he sprang to his feet. Harry was in trouble. While he had full faith in the wards protecting Harry, there was simply too much at stake for them not to respond to any threat to the boy's safety immediately.

Fully aware of what the warning meant, Alastor gave a low growl and moved to stand next to Dumbledore. The ancient wizard was in the process of enchanting one of the few silver instruments that had escaped Harry's recent tirade into a Portkey that would take the two wizards directly into the boy's bedroom. As Dumbledore held the finished Portkey out to Alastor, he was comforted by the look of fierce determination that showed in the old warhorse's one human eye. With a firm shout of _"Impendeo"_, the Portkey activated and the two men vanished.

As the Portkey neared its arrival point, the two wizards felt themselves slam into an anti-intruder ward and cast backwards. They found themselves thrown to the ground across the street from Harry's home. They quickly rose to their feet and surveyed the situation. A group of maybe a dozen Death Eaters was arrayed across the street from them; strangely enough, they were facing Dumbledore and Moody instead of trying to gain entrance to the property. With them was a large group of Dementors that started to float towards them as soon as they spotted the two men.

Alastor immediately began to stump across the street towards the Death Eaters. He paid no mind to the approaching Dementors. Moody was aware of his own limitations, and he had learned long ago to ignore them and focus on his strengths instead. The hard life he had lead to this point had left him with very few good memories strong enough for him to conjure a Patronus. Albus was with him though, and Moody knew he would have little trouble dealing with the Dementors alone. Moody had spent his whole adult life dealing with Dark Wizards, and he had a large chip on his shoulder after he had been injured at the recent battle at the Department of Mysteries when his much-preached vigilance had slipped. The Death Eaters between him and the boy didn't know what was about to hit them.

Albus paced slowly behind the scarred Auror as the Dementors bore down on them. With a flourish of his wand, he pointed it skyward, and he shouted _"Expecto Patronum"._ His silvery phoenix Patronus burst forth and soared high into the sky with an ethereal screech. Albus watched as the bird rolled over in flight and dove back towards him. With a smile on his face, he threw back his head and stretched his arms out to the side, as if he was basking in the glory of the newly risen sun. A second later, his Patronus disappeared into his chest. With deafening shout of _"MAXIMUS",_ a huge silver wave of power burst forth from him. The wave passed harmlessly through Alastor, and impacted the approaching Dementors.

The Dementors screamed horribly as they were scattered and thrown though the air by the silver wave that he had conjured with the help of his Patronus. Albus briefly went down on one knee in the wake of such a large expenditure of his power. This was an extremely difficult and dangerous application of the Patronus charm that he had personally developed. The charm basically allowed the Patronus to feed directly off a wizard's raw magic to produce the wave of power. Albus had never taught this spell, because it was very doubtful if more than one or two wizards in the world had the necessary power to reproduce the effect.

Albus was spurred into action again by the distinctive sound of gunshots from inside Harry's home. "Alastor!" He shouted as he regained his feet and pushed forward again. "We must hurry, Harry needs our help."

Moody was hard pressed as he furiously deflected the various curses the Death Eaters were sending his way. He was doing well for himself, but he had still been hit by at least two dark curses so far. He knew that his injuries would require immediate aid once the fight was over. He also recognized what the sounds of gunfire meant for them, and he knew he couldn't worry about his injuries now.

Moody was good, and Albus was in a league of his own, but there were simply too many foes for them to handle quickly, and he knew that they had little time left now. What that they needed was something drastic if they were to save Potter. When Moody was forced to throw himself to the ground to avoid a Killing Curse from the Death Eater ranks, he saw his chance.

His magical eye fixed on the propane grill on the side of the Dursley's shed, and acting on instinct, he silently summoned the propane tank towards the backs of the Death Eaters. Carefully, he directed it about 20 feet above their heads before he released his spell and immediately sent an Incendio curse on a path to intercept the now falling tank.

Moody's second spell had just left his wand when he was hit by a Severing curse that removed his wand arm just below his elbow. He accepted the hit with a stoic grunt as he watched his curse hit the propane tank. The resulting explosion brought a smile to the battered man's face.

Twisted shards of burning shrapnel tore through the air and Death Eaters were thrown every which way as the fireball engulfed them. Since Moody was already lying flat on his stomach, he was relatively unscathed by the blast. He heard a muffled grunt from the ground behind him, and he imagined that Albus had not been quite as lucky.

Moody grabbed his wand in his remaining hand and struggled to his feet. He cast a spell on the stump of his right arm to cauterise the wound as he surveyed the damage. He wasn't overly concerned about the loss of his arm, as it had been a clean cut and could be reattached later with little difficulty.

Alastor's improvised attack had mowed down the gathered Death Eaters like a scythe through dry wheat. Only two of them had managed to erect shields before the explosion had ripped into their ranks. As he twisted out of the way of a Killing Curse fired at him by his closest foe, he saw the other remaining Death Eater trading curses with the recently arrived Lupin and Shacklebolt.

"You fools are too late," the distinctive voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, the other remaining Death Eater taunted. "Potter is dead by now, and we will be leaving shortly!"

"Although, I'm sure I have a few seconds to spare to play with an old relic like you." Lestrange spat as she began to stalk towards the weary Auror.

Moody took a step back as he prepared for another fight. While he had practiced using his wand in both hands, just in case, he was by no means as skilled a dueller when he was forced to use his left hand. Lestrange was a dangerous witch and he realized that, in his current weakened and injured state, he was in serious trouble unless she made a mistake.

Lestrange began the duel with a cutting curse. It slipped past Moody's guard and caught him in his good leg, knocking him to the ground again.

"Did the poor old Auror fall down and go boom?" He heard her cackle wildly as she continued to taunt him. "You lost your wittle arm, and you already lost a leg. You look so lopsided now. Would you like wittle Bella to even you out?"

Moody heard her shout, _"Accio Eye!"_ and despite his current predicament, a grim smile appeared on his battered face. With a wet squelching sound, his magical eye popped out of its socket, and began to fly towards Bellatrix's outstretched hand. Alastor silently imbedded a timed Concussion Hex into his eye as it sped towards Bellatrix.

Moody's hex detonated when his eye was about two feet from Bellatrix. The magically hardened glass of his eye shattered, and dozens of shards of white-hot glass tore into Lestrange's upper torso and neck. She collapsed on her back, screaming in agony.

"Bitch," Moody spat derisively, as he fished around in his pocket for the spare eye that he always carried.

* * *

Albus had just regained his feet when he saw Bellatrix fall from the blast of Alastor's rather inventive attack. He had been caught in the temple by a piece of shrapnel from the exploding propane tank. It had dazed him for a moment, but even though his snow-white beard was now matted down with blood, the wound was merely superficial.

His attention was drawn to the Dursleys' front porch as the door opened and he saw two men step outside. He saw Remus wildly charging at them, firing curses like a man possessed. In his panicked state, his curses were all off target.

The two men in question didn't even acknowledge Remus' attacks. One simply held up a tube and a flare rocketed into the air with a high-pitched zipping noise. The other man casually pressed a button on the cylinder he was holding. In a flash, the two men, along with all the Death Eaters scattered about the yard, disappeared.

The magical flare burst into the Dark Mark above the house, and Albus felt as if it was staring down at him in delight. Seconds later, number 4 Privet Drive vanished in an explosion of blue flame. Albus was caught in the shockwave and thrown backwards to the ground as debris began to rain down on the area. He was vaguely aware of Alastor rolling around on the ground as he tried to put out his now burning cloak. He also saw both Kingsley and Remus, as they lay unmoving and covered in debris, off to the right.

For a long time, Albus stared at the smoking crater that had only seconds before been Harry's home. He only barely noticed when a thin piece of charred wood struck him in the chest. He made to brush the object off him when his eyes focused on it, and he froze.

On his chest, cracked and smoking, but still recognizable, were the remains of Harry's wand. Albus couldn't think past the lump in his throat as tears began to roll down his dirty and bloodstained face.

"Oh, Harry," the broken-hearted icon finally managed to choke out. "I failed you. I… am… so very sorry."

* * *

Many miles away from the devastation at Privet Drive, the Dark Lord Voldemort was just beginning to stir. His entire body was screaming in agony, but although he swayed dangerously, he still managed to struggle to his feet. Angrily, he swiped at the dark streams of blood that were oozing from his nose and left eye. Whatever the Potter brat had hit him with had very nearly killed him. He only hoped that the boy had suffered as well.

He hadn't intended to mentally attack the boy, but the elation that he felt at finally learning the Prophecy had drawn Potter into his mind. He had been forced to improvise somewhat. He had thrust everything he had at the boy in the hopes that he would keep him incapacitated and unable to flee or summon aid before 'his Hand' arrived to deal with him.

That this also allowed Voldemort the chance to taunt his long-time nemesis before the end was an added plus. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't even surprised at the strength of Potter's counter-attack. After all, the boy always performed amazingly when his back was against the wall.

Voldemort prayed that their mental struggle had bought enough time for his men to arrive. Taking a deep breath, he very cautiously reached out with his mind towards the link he shared with the boy. His heart began to hammer violently in his chest when he couldn't find Potter at the other end. With more confidence now, he pushed all of mental energy that he could conjure into finding the boy; still he felt nothing.

Lord Voldemort let a burst of maniacal laughter issue from his mouth as he allowed himself to collapse back onto his bed. No known magic could block the connection that he shared with the boy, so the fact that he couldn't reach him could only mean one thing.

Voldemort knew that he was going to take a long time to heal from the wounds he suffered today. None of that mattered at the moment though, because he now had all the time in the world. As he allowed himself to fall into unconsciousness, one thought flashed through his mind. _No one will be able to stop me now, the Prophecy is fulfilled, and Harry Potter is dead… _

_

* * *

_

A/N: Here is Chapter Four. I hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to my Beta LucyLupin for her help. Until next time, thanks for reading.

EnigmaDecoder


	5. You're Dead

**Chapter Five**

**You're Dead**

Over the last several years, Harry had spent a significant amount of time in the Hospital wing at Hogwarts. As such, once he regained consciousness, it took him only the briefest of moments to realize that he was definitely not at Hogwarts.

To start with, the air in this room had a distinctive stale smell to it, as if it hadn't seen fresh air in a long time. The room was also dimly lit, with the only light coming from a pillar of sunlight that streamed into the small room through the window over Harry's head. It was almost the complete opposite of the bright and clean Hogwarts hospital wing. He fumbled around on the nightstand next to his bed for his glasses, but he gave up after his short search did not find them. While his vision wasn't that good without his glasses, he was still able to make out some of the details of the room.

The room he was in was very Spartan. The walls were all raw unfinished wood and this room had no roof. The walls seemed to have been put in, almost as an after thought, to divide the living space and provide some measure of privacy. He could see right up to the open ceiling that was composed of rough-hewn beams that intersected with a larger beam that ran down the apex of the ceiling. It reminded Harry of an old hunting lodge that he had seen on the TV at one time.

With a sudden start, Harry realized that if he wasn't at Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place, then he was most likely, in serious trouble. Death Eaters had been coming to kill him before he had blacked out. That he was still alive, in Harry's mind at least, could mean only one thing. Voldemort, despite what he had said to Harry in there mental discussion, wanted the pleasure of killing him.

Suddenly, Harry heard heavy footsteps approaching his door. With barely controlled panic, Harry glanced around the room desperately looking for anything that he could use as a weapon. The best he could find in the short moments that he had was a heavy ceramic chamber pot. _This will have to do_, Harry thought as he quietly padded across the room and stood with his weapon raised, where he hoped the opening door would hide him.

No sooner was Harry in place, than the door began to creak open. He waited patiently for the person's head to appear. A second later, a balding head, that Harry suspected was Wormtail's, appeared and he struck. With a satisfying crack, the chamber pot shattered on the man's skull. As the man stumbled past him, Harry dodged around him and bolted down the hallway. An angry shout of, "son of a bitch!" echoed behind him as a bolt of red spell light sailed over his shoulder. He was almost to the end of the hall, when a second spell hit him in the back and sent him spinning to the floor. Harry was out cold before he even landed.

* * *

When Harry awoke this time, he found himself securely bound to a hard wooden chair by a length of coarse rope. He was pleased when he felt the familiar weight of his lost glasses once again perched upon his nose. However, when he opened his eyes, he found his glasses short one of the lenses, which meant that he was now viewing his world in a distracting sort of double vision.

Cautiously, so as not to alert his captor that he was awake, Harry took stock of his surroundings. The air in his prison still smelled stale, but it was now punctuated with the smells of coffee brewing, cigarette smoke, and sweet smell of rain that was blowing in through the only open window that he could see from his current vantage point. His earlier observation that he was in a hunting cabin, was confirmed when he saw the head of a large buck mounted over the flagstone fireplace. He heard the soft clinking of silverware on dishes and he was certain that he was no longer alone.

Harry's captor, having realized that he was awake, crossed the room, pulled a chair from the nearby table, and sat down facing him. He took a drink from the mug of coffee he held in his shaking hand before he set it down on the table. Carelessly, the man popped his lit cigarette back into the corner of his mouth. The quick motion caused a trail of ash to fall from it and land on his white T-shirt. He distractedly brushed away the fallen ash on his shirt, which left a black smudge next to an existing brown stain. The man casually leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. Wisps of blue smoke from his cigarette circled his head, but beyond a slight squinting of his eyes, the man's face was expressionless as he stared at Harry.

Harry sat in silence as he regarded the man in front of him. Even with the distorted image that his broken glasses provided him, it was apparent that his first impression that Wormtail was holding him was incorrect. True, this man was roughly the same height as Wormtail, they both were balding, and they both were rather thick around the middle. Both men also had the same awkward shuffling gait when they walked, but that was where the similarities between the two ended.

To begin with, this man was older than Wormtail, if Harry had to guess, he would have put the man's age at about sixty, give or take a few years. While Wormtail was a pudgy little man, his captor seemed to carry all of his weight in a large potbelly that protruded from under his ratty T-shirt and hung over the waistband of his trousers. Oddly enough, the rest of the man's body appeared rather drawn and thin, and his shoulders and head drooped forwarded as if they were being pulled down by the great weight that he carried in his stomach. Harry almost laughed aloud when he realized that this man resembled a giant pear with legs.

After several uncomfortable seconds where the two of them just sat staring at each other, Harry finally summoned up all the bravado that he could. "Voldemort must really be scrapping the bottom of the barrel these days if is taking the likes of you into his ranks." Harry spat, as he smirked and leaned back in his chair as far as his bindings would allow him to. "What did he promise you once he's won an all-you-can-eat buffet and an unlimited supply of Weight-Loss Potions?"

The man just continued to stare at him, his blank face betraying no sign that Harry's taunt had bothered him at all.

Harry, who had decided that if he could anger his captor, he might make the man slip up and give away some information about where he was being held, or what was going on, continued to taunt him. "What's the matter? Oh, _I_ know, without your _master _here, you don't even have the brain power to form an intelligent response."

After hearing Harry's last comment, the man leaned forward in his chair and took a deep drag off his cigarette before he flicked the butt across the room, into the flagstone hearth where a small fire was burning. Harry was about to continue his taunts, when the man blew a puff of cigarette smoke directly into his face, which made Harry's eyes water and caused him to cough uncontrollably for a few seconds.

"Shut your mouth you little twat," the man barked in a low gravelly voice. "I'm no Death Eater and I don't work for them either."

Having finally gotten his coughing under control, Harry glared skeptically at the man as he resumed speaking.

"From what I know of Death Eaters, which isn't much mind you," the man continued, "they are nothing but a bunch of bigoted tossers, with too much time on their hands, and a flair for the dramatic. Although, I think I may have to revise my opinion of them."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Well, _apparently_ they wanted you dead for whatever reason," he answered. "While I have only known you for about an hour and a half now, I find myself starting to agree with them." For a moment, it looked like he was about to continue talking, but instead he burst out into a loud coughing fit. He managed to get himself under control after a few seconds, and with one last hack, followed closely by a disgusting snorting sound, he turned from Harry and spit a large wad of mucus across the room to land with a sizzle, in the fireplace.

Harry managed to control his revulsion, and he waited patiently as the man took a quick sip of coffee to clear out the remaining tickle from his throat. "Sorry about that," he said, once he had composed himself, "but as I was saying, I risked my neck in order to save your pathetic life. Normally, this would leave someone in your position feeling somewhat grateful. What thanks do I get instead though? You smash me over the head with a chamber pot, which _lucky_ for you was empty, and then proceed to insult me in my own home. I _should've_ just left you there to die."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this strange man who, at the moment, still had him tied to a chair. Despite his natural trusting instinct, the near constant string of disappointments and betrayals that he had endured since his return to the wizarding world had caused him to become much more cautious. While it was true that he was still alive, and this stranger must have had something to do with that, he couldn't help the feeling that at any moment, Voldemort and his Death Eaters would come strolling into the room to kill him once and for all.

"Sorry," Harry said. Unfortunately, in his current state of confusion, his statement came out more like a question than he had meant it to.

"Hmpf," the man snorted as he fished around in his pocket for his cigarette pack, "sure kid, whatever you say."

"No, I mean it," Harry retorted quickly, with much more conviction in his voice this time. "I don't know what happened, but before I blacked out, I remember that Death Eaters were attacking Privet Dr. I expected to wake up safe with friends or, not at all, if help didn't arrive in time, that is. While I don't know who you are, I am alive because of you, so, thanks."

The man regarded him for a moment as he attempted to light his cigarette with the cheap plastic lighter he had produced. He gave a barely perceptible nod of his head in response, and taking a deep draw off his now lit cigarette; he leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

"So," Harry began tentatively, "who are you, and why did you help me?"

"Right to the point then aren't you," the man answered Harry. "Well, that's a good thing I guess. If there is an elephant in the room, it is always good to point it out."

Harry's brow wrinkled in confusion. He had no idea what this man meant by that.

"Anyways," the man continued, "my name is Augustine Binns." He saw the look of mirth dancing in Harry's eyes after he had given his name, and his voice took on a flinty edge as he fired right back. "However, if you _ever _call me anything but Gus or sir, I will stab you in the eye with a fork."

"Yes sir," Harry answered seriously. It was clear to him that Gus's name was a sore spot to him. He silently made a resolution not to try the man's patience by pushing that particular button. "Are you related to Professor Binns from Hogwarts?"

Gus gave a silent snort as he responded, "Yes I am. Distantly anyways, but that is neither here nor there."

Harry nodded in agreement and waited for Gus to continue.

"I rescued you, because I had a debt that I needed to repay. Your mother Lily helped me out a long time ago. In return, I promised her that I would repay the favor by watching out for you if she was unable to."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat at the mention of his mother. With barely contained excitement he asked, "You knew my Mother? What was she like? Can you tell me about her?"

"Yes," Gus answered as he stood up and walked to the kitchen. "I knew your mother." He returned a moment later with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He took a slug of the whiskey straight from the bottle as he sat back down. "I promised Lily that I would tell you if she was unable to, so here goes. Please don't interrupt me though. It's a bit of a long story, and I don't want to repeat myself."

"I was born in early June 1935. I had a relatively normal childhood, if such a thing exists that is. My parents loved me and coddled me while I was growing up. I was their only child, and they considered me a blessing. They had tried for many years for a child but it wasn't until they were both in there late 50's that they had me."

"What does any of this have to do with my mother?" Harry asked impatiently.

Gus' eyebrows crept up his forehead as he looked at Harry in irritation. "What did I just say about interrupting me?" Harry looked momentarily ashamed of his outburst as Gus continued. "It is important that you hear the whole story. Now, if you are finished with the outbursts, I'll try this again.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, both of my parents were wizards. As such, it was their dream that I attend Hogwarts. They were constantly telling me bedtime stories about what a magical place it was, and I couldn't wait until it was time for me to attend.

"What I didn't realize at the time, was that as my 11th birthday approached, my parents were becoming concerned. Apparently, I wasn't really displaying the traits that were common to most magical children. I had caused some minor accidental magic, but it wasn't much and my parents began to fear that I was a Squib.

"One day, I overheard my parents fighting about it, and I got pretty upset. I had been raised on stories of Hogwarts since I could remember, and the whole idea that I would not be able to go was too much for me to handle. My parents eventually found me crying in my tree house. They realized that I had overheard them, and they tried to assure me that they would love me the same even if I were a Squib.

"Things were better around my house after that, but I was still nervous. I knew that regardless of what they said, my parents were going to be disappointed if I didn't go to Hogwarts. I don't think that I will ever forget how happy I was when I finally did get my Hogwarts letter. I could tell that my parents were much relived as well.

"Now, you'd think that it was all down hill from here right? You'd be wrong though. When I got to Hogwarts, I had a real hard time. Even the simplest of spells were nearly impossible for me to perform without an unreal amount of practice. It was a very hard year for me. The other kids picked on me because I couldn't keep up with them. When the year was over, I had failed all of my classes, with the exception of History of Magic and Herbology since these two didn't really require the students to use magic in them.

"When my parents received my grades, they were beside themselves with worry. They couldn't understand it. I was a bright kid, but for some reason, I just couldn't perform magic that well. My grades were accompanied with a note telling my parents that if my grades didn't improve in the early part of my second year, that the Board of Governors would have no choice but to remove me from Hogwarts.

"My parents, being the good people they were, did everything they could to help me, or to find a reason for my poor performance. They took me to a long line of healers and mystics to see if there was a medical reason for my problem. However, none of them could find anything _wrong_ with me. As the date for my return to Hogwarts drew nearer, my parents became increasingly desperate for a solution.

"Finally, my father called in a favor from a friend of his who worked in the Department of Mysteries. He arranged for me to be tested by them. If anyone could figure out what was going on, my father reasoned, it would be the Unspeakables. I went for the testing, and everything seemed to be fine. My father's friend said that they would have the results in just a few days time."

Gus paused for a moment, as if he was reliving a particularly painful memory, and took another pull from the bottle of whiskey that he had been absently passing back and forth between his hands while he spoke. "Two days after I was tested by the Unspeakables, both of my parents were dead and I found myself an orphan. Since I had no living relatives, I was quickly made a ward of the state."

"What happened to them?" Harry broke the silence by asking.

Gus had apparently forgotten his request for silence as he told his story, because he quickly answered him without any trace of the annoyance he had displayed earlier. "Apparently, it was a robbery gone wrong, or I guess I should say that it was supposed to _look_ like a robbery gone wrong."

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked quickly, before Gus could remember his no interruption policy.

"My parents were murdered. My family was poor you see, they were honest and hardworking, but they rarely had two Knuts to rub together. Anyone who knew them would have realized that they didn't have anything worth stealing. That didn't stop a _burglar_ from breaking into our home in the middle of the night though. The story I was told, was that my parents caught the man going through their things, and he killed them both as he made his escape."

"But you don't believe that do you?" Harry asked.

"At first I did. But when I found myself, not in an orphanage like I expected, but locked in a cell within the Department of Mysteries, I realized the truth." Gus paused again to take another drink of whiskey before he continued. "The Unspeakables found something in the tests that they ran on me. It was something that they didn't really understand, and unlike magic, it was something that they couldn't regulate. Because of that, they felt that they needed to contain it, almost like an outbreak of Plague, and study it. They killed my parents, so that when I disappeared, nobody would be any wiser. With my parents gone, it became an easy thing for them to make me disappear. All they had to do was swipe my file from the Ministry Archives, and Obliviate a few people, and it was like I had never existed."

Harry was shocked at what he was hearing. True, his own experiences with the Ministry hadn't been particularly good, but what Gus was talking about made them sound down right evil. "How could the Ministry do that and what could they have found in your tests that would make them feel that they had to do something that horrible?" he asked cautiously.

"First off," Gus answered, "it wasn't the Ministry per say. It was the Unspeakables. While they are part of the Ministry, they have an amount of autonomy that no other department has. While most officials high up enough in the Ministry are aware of the _questionable_ activities that the Department of Mysteries engages in, they turn a blind eye to it. From what I've seen during my time as a prisoner there, not much happens in the Ministry without the say-so of the Heads of the Department of Mysteries. I guess you could say that they are the power behind the throne, so to speak.

"Now," Gus said sternly as he got back to his story, "shut up and listen to me. I don't want to have to repeat any of this." He waited until Harry relaxed back in his chair before he continued. "Apparently, during a scan of my magical core, the Unspeakables found something intertwined with it that they couldn't explain at first. After some research, they discovered what it was, and they _orchestrated_ the deaths of my parents to get control over me.

"In time, I was told what the thing that was interwoven with my magical core was. It was the representation of a developing Psychic gift. While the Unspeakables had, throughout the years, had the opportunity to study muggles who exhibited some form of this mental ability. I was the first wizard that they had found with this particular gift. During the thirty or so years I spent as a prisoner there, I wasn't the last. There were at least two others that were discovered, and became unwilling guests like me.

"During the many long years that I spent being poked and prodded like a lab rat, the Unspeakables eventually made some progress in the study of my 'condition'. They discovered that a person's magical core, when combined with a 'mental core' like the others and myself had, worked against each other, if you will. Like each was fighting for dominance over the other.

"They tried to explain how it all worked to me, but all their scientific jargon just confused me. That is, until one of the older Unspeakables explained it to me in layman's terms. He said that it was best to think of it as a carriage being pulled by two horses. One horse represents your magical core, while the other represents your mental core. The carriage isn't going to go very far if only one of the horses is pulling. This was the reason why I had such a difficult time producing magic at Hogwarts. While the two different abilities operate independently of each other, they are still connected on some basic underlying level. They found, through much trial and error in their carefully controlled experiments, that as they developed my mental core, magic became much easier for me to perform.

"For thirty years or so, I endured my captivity. Most of the time I was treated well enough, it was almost as if I was a treasured pet to some of them. That all changed in the early 1970's though when a new Unspeakable started work with us. His name was Augustus Rookwood, and he was about as foul a man as I have ever had the misfortune to meet in my life. He considered the others and me abominations, and he went out of his way to torment us. He eventually went too far with one of his 'experiments' and the other two like me were killed."

"Rookwood is a Death Eater," Harry spat out in disgust; "my friends and I fought him in the Department of Mysteries just a few weeks ago!"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did," Gus replied as if he was appeasing a small child, "but for the last time, would you _please_ stop interrupting me."

"Now, as I was saying. Rookwood murdered the other two and I knew that he wouldn't be happy until I was dead too. Since I knew what he had planned for me, I was able to use my developing abilities to avoid each of his plots. I finally realized that I wouldn't be able to stay one-step ahead of him forever. I realized that if I was going to continue to live, I needed to escape.

"With my developing abilities, I thought it would be a simple enough thing to get away. I was actually surprised at the time, that I hadn't thought to break out of my captivity prior to then, but as I said, before Rookwood arrived, I had always been treated well, for a lab rat of course. When I finally made my break for freedom, it was almost painfully easy. That is, until I set foot outside the Department of Mysteries itself." He paused in his speech for a moment and, setting down his bottle of whiskey, he gestured with his right hand towards what appeared to Harry to be a small blue ink smudge on Gus' left forearm. Satisfied that Harry saw the mark that he was pointing to, he continued his tale.

"This little tattoo on my left forearm was the Unspeakables' insurance policy. I don't know when they put it on me, but it's been there for as long as I can remember. It is, or was, actually a multi-use portkey, and it's a real fine piece of work too. It is activated only under specific circumstances, in this case, my leaving the Department of Mysteries. As soon as I stepped outside, it activated and I was immediately transported back to my locked cell. The Unspeakables, especially Rookwood, were none to happy about my attempt to gain my freedom. I wasn't let out of my cell without a guard for a long time after that incident. In time, as things have a habit of doing, my routine went pretty much back to normal. The tests and experiments resumed, but I was never given the same level of freedom that I had prior to my attempted escape.

"Things continued like that for quite a while, until one day in early 1978, I new Unspeakable was assigned to work with me. Her name was Lily Evans." Gus paused briefly and glared at Harry, as if he expected the boy to interrupt the story now that he had finally heard his mother's name mentioned. To Harry's credit, he was able to restrain the urge, although Gus could tell by the look on his face that it was taking a good deal of his willpower to remain quiet.

"Anyway," Gus continued, "that's when I first met your mother. She was fresh out of Hogwarts at the time, so she was full of idealistic energy and ready to take the world by the throat. She was also different then any of the other Unspeakables that I had met before her. She was smart, but I guess all of them were in their own way, and she had a sense of humor. I had almost forgotten how to laugh before I met her. However, most important to me, was the fact that she treated me as an equal. I wasn't an experiment, or a case number to her. I was a person. On more than one occasion, she even stood up to Rookwood on my behalf. It wasn't long after she started working there, that we became friends.

"Lily had gotten engaged to your father just prior to her starting work at the Department of Mysteries. During our many talks, I got the impression that she didn't have any real girlfriends of her own. She always spoke of your father and his marauder friends with something approaching envy in her voice, but I never once heard her mention her own friends. I found that odd, she really was a remarkable young woman.

"Anyway, I guess I became sort of a surrogate 'girlfriend' to her. She would go on and on about china patterns and other trivial things that I couldn't have cared less about. However, I listened and answered her back when I thought she wanted me to. It was all fine with me though, after so long, I was just grateful to have someone to actually talk to."

Gus stopped briefly to take another shot of whiskey and he carefully watched the faraway, glassy eyed look that had come over Harry's face at the mention of his mother. After a moment, he saw Harry's eyes brighten, which he took for a sign that the boy had returned to the present and he started speaking again.

"Well, things continued along like that for the next two years or so. Then one day, unexpectedly, your mother comes up to me in a complete panic about something. It was early 1980 I believe, and she had only recently learned that she was pregnant with you. She was excited as anything at the prospect of being a mother, but like any expectant mother, she had a habit of over reacting about minor things having to do with the pregnancy. It took me a while to get her calm enough to talk about what had upset her. Once I did, I was certain that I was going to hear something simple, like she was worried that the pants she had worn to work were too tight, and she was afraid that they were going to hurt the baby.

"However, once she was done speaking, I remember wishing that it was something that simple. She had been working in her lab on some experiment or another when, just for the hell of it, she decided to run some tests on the baby to be sure that you were all right. All the tests came back fine, except for the last one that is. She couldn't even tell me why she had run that particular test, but in the end, it didn't really matter. She used an experimental test that she had been developing, with my help, over the last few years. The test detected the same mental ability that I was imprisoned for, present in your growing body.

"To make matters more complicated, the security oaths and vows, that all Unspeakables had to take in order to begin work in the Department of Mysteries, prevented your mother from discussing her work with anyone outside the Department. Despite wanting to desperately, she couldn't even talk to your father about it. I was the only person that she could turn to for help, and beyond listening to her; I couldn't offer her much in the way of assistance. I told her that I would help in any way that I could, but I explained about the magical tattoo that made it impossible for me to leave that place. She broke down in tears again, and ran off.

"After that day, things changed between us. Lily never talked about it, and she acted very different around me after that night, she was almost cold towards me. While she had a life, a husband, and friends outside of that place, I didn't, and it was very difficult for me. For several months, things continued to worsen between us, until I wasn't even sure that we could be called friends any longer."

Gus abruptly stopped talking and he exhaled loudly as he paused to light another cigarette. He took another long pull off his whiskey bottle, which was now half-empty, and glanced over Harry's shoulder as he searched his memories for the end of this particular story.

"Finally," Gus began again, "after a few months, your mother woke me in the middle of the night."

Harry wasn't certain, but he thought that he heard a slight tremor in Gus' voice as he started speaking this time, like this was a particularly painful memory for him to remember.

"Lily was in an absolute frenzy that night, and I will never forget it as long as I live. She was very pregnant at the time, and she was only a day away from the maternity leave that she had scheduled. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were wild as they flashed about my cell. She was rambling about Prophecies and how she needed my help and how I was the only one who could help her. I was about to point out exactly how little help I could be to her, when I was little more than a prisoner at the moment. She beat me to it though. Before I could even begin to protest, she had pulled her wand and muttered something I couldn't hear. My left arm tingled briefly, and just like that, your mother had dispelled the Tattoo Charm that was keeping me prisoner. She really was amazing when it came to Charm work.

"I finally was able to get her calm enough so she could tell me what was going on. She said that a Prophecy had just been given about Lord Voldemort, and a child who was going to be born right around your due date. Needless to say, your mother was certain that you were the child that this Prophecy mentioned. She was also convinced that Voldemort was going to be coming after you. Lily said that she and James were going into hiding under the Fidelius Charm. While she trusted the Charm, it wasn't just her life that was at risk. She felt that she needed to take other precautions.

"She said that if the worst were to happen, and she and James were killed, that she would need someone to look out for you. She needed someone that she trusted, but more importantly, she needed someone who would understand the difficulties that the psychic talent that we both share, would cause for you as you grew up. In her mind, I was the only person who could possibly give you the help that you were bound to need. I think that beyond the threat that this Prophecy posed for you and your family, she was just as concerned with her son being a prisoner because of what he was, as I was forced to be.

"Without so much as a second thought, I quickly gave your mother my promise that I would look out for you if she were to die. After that, she hugged me and shoved a pouch of galleons into my hand. She told me to wait at least a week before I made my escape, so that she wouldn't be implicated in it. I promised her with a silent nod of my head, and without another word, she was gone."

Gus took a long pause after this, and rubbed both of his hands roughly across his unshaven face. He reached for another cigarette but, finding his pack empty, he settled for taking another long sip of whiskey. After several long seconds of silence, which was only broken by the popping of the logs that still burned in the hearth, Gus stood and walked over to the fireplace, where he tossed the empty cigarette pack into the flames. "And that," Harry heard him mutter softly, "was the last time that I saw my friend."

Neither man spoke for several tense minutes after that. Harry was trying to process what he had just heard, but beyond the fact that he was apparently much farther from normal than he had originally thought, he wasn't having much success. It was, after all, a lot to take in all at once. While both Sirius and Remus had told him stories about his parents, those had been almost exclusively about his father. This was the first time that he had really heard about what his mother had been like as a person.

"Where have you been all this time?" Harry finally broke the silence by asking. He heard Gus' footsteps approach, as the man came back across the room and sat back down facing Harry.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't here for you before now Harry," Gus said simply. "When I first escaped, I tried to stay close to keep an eye on your mother, but with the Fidelius Charm that you all were hiding under, there wasn't much I could do. I felt that your mother was perfectly safe, but I couldn't say the same for myself. I was certain that the Unspeakables were only one-step behind me all the time. Therefore, I fled England for a time.

"I had never had the chance to do much living prior to that point. While I had survived, it had been as a prisoner. I took to my freedom with relish, and there was nothing that I didn't want to experience. The world was my oyster back then. Unfortunately, I got mixed up with drugs somewhere along the line. Opium was my downfall, and I spent the better part of ten years chasing that particular dragon. When I finally got clean, I am ashamed to admit that I had forgotten all about your mother and the promise that I made to her.

"About three weeks ago I saw something that made it all come rushing back to me. I was passing through a small Wizarding Enclave in Ireland when I stopped into a pub for something to eat. One of the men in the bar was reading an article in the Quibbler. It was an interview that you had given to a Rita Skeeter about your life to that point. I borrowed the paper once he was finished with it, and I spent the last few days tracking you down. It was lucky that I found you when I did too. Had I been even five minutes longer, you most certainly would be dead now."

"My friends are going to be looking for me," Harry said simply, and then with a rising sense of panic as a second thought occurred to him. "Voldemort! His Death Eaters will be looking for me too. We have to get out of here. It isn't safe! They could be here at any moment." His eyes had begun darting around the room as he struggled against the ropes that held him, as if he expected Death himself to kick in the door at any second.

Gus did not seem very worried to Harry. He even chuckled softly at his antics before he answered him. "No one is going to be looking for you, I promise. You are perfectly safe here."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked with barely controlled frustration.

"It's really very simple," Gus said with a broad smile. "You are dead, and no one is going to spend time hunting for a dead man." He grabbed a folded up newspaper off the table and tossed it onto Harry's lap, where it teetered briefly before it fell to the floor.

"What do you mean I'm dead?" Harry asked in confusion.

"It's in the paper," Gus replied. "Read it for yourself." Harry glanced down at the copy of the Daily Prophet that lay at his feet and gasped in shock as he read the large banner headline that said **_Wizarding Britain mourns the death of the boy who lived._**

Harry gasped in surprise when he read that and struggled mightily against his bonds to get a better look at the newspaper. Finally, realizing the futility of it, he asked, "Gus, could you please untie me now?"

"But, you _aren't_ tied up at all." Gus answered with a big grin.

"What?" Harry responded as he looked down at the ropes wrapped around his body, only to find that they weren't there. "How did..?" he began to ask, but stopped and grabbed to the paper and began to read.

**Today, the Wizarding World mourns the death of Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Early yesterday morning, young Mr. Potter was attacked and slain, by a group of Death Eaters at his relatives' home in Surrey. Since his return to the Wizarding world five years ago, Mr. Potter had been an inspiration to many, and a beacon of hope in the dark times that have returned with the reappearance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. **

Harry paused from reading the article and glanced up at Gus who had been talking while he read. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't listening," Harry said to Gus.

"Oh, well I guess I can understand that," Gus responded with a dry chuckle. "After all, it isn't everyday that you find out that you are dead. I can see how that might be distracting. I was explaining to you about the ropes. You see, one of the things that my mental powers allow me to do is to manipulate others minds into seeing and feeling things that aren't really there, like I did with you and those ropes. I also did something similar to the two Death Eaters who broke into your relatives' home. For all intents and purposes, they _saw_ themselves kill you, hell; they even _felt_ your blood splatter on them when they did it."

"And, I can learn to do that as well," Harry asked. "You said that we have the same ability, right?"

"Possibly," Gus answered, "but I doubt it. You see, the thing about it is that, unlike magic, where anyone can learn a spell, the psychic abilities are unique to each person. In other words, while you may be able to do some of the things that I can do, you will have your own individual specialty and group of abilities to call on. Once you are ready, of course.

"While most of my abilities are centered around mental manipulation, the test that your mother did on you before were born indicated that your powers were centered around your ability to influence your body's metabolism"

"What does that mean?" Harry asked, very curious to know the answer.

"Well, I have my suspicions, but you definitely have the ability to speed up your body's healing process. When I got you back here a few days ago, your hand was bleeding badly, when I got back with something to dress to wound with, the bleeding had stopped. I hadn't been gone more than a minute, and the next morning when I checked on you, all traces that your hand was injured at all, had disappeared.

"We can discuss all of this later though. Now, I need you to make a decision. I can train you in your psychic abilities this summer, as I promised your mother I would. However, to do that, I need you to stay here with me for the time being. That means that your friends, and enemies for that matter, must continue to believe you are dead. We will be safe this way, as no one will be out searching for you. When the summer is over, I promise that I will take you back to Hogwarts myself.

"Think about it carefully. I never had a choice, but you do. If you want, I will take you back to your friends right now. However, I hope you decide to stay, even though I am frankly terrified of what may happen as a result."

What do you mean by that?" Harry asked in confusion.

"It's simple really," Gus responded. "Me, and the others like me, were nothing much more than highly functioning Squibs before we started to develop our psychic abilities. To put it simply, if you have done even a fraction of the things that the paper claims you've done..." He broke off suddenly and paused for a few seconds as he searched for the right way to express himself. "Well, let's just say, that if you develop your skills to a point where they aren't inhibiting your magic any longer, you should to be able to give both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore a run for their money."

_The power that the Dark Lord knows not_, Harry thought distractedly as he made up his mind, _this could be it_. "I'll do it," Harry told Gus firmly. "I want to stay and train this summer."

"You're sure," Gus said as he stood and looked at Harry closely. "It won't be easy, I can promise you that. In fact, I can almost guarantee that you will end up hating me before the end of the summer. Many of the things that I will be making you do won't make any sense to you at the time. In fact you'll probably think that I am being deliberately cruel."

"I don't care," Harry said quickly, "whatever I need to do, I'll do." _It may be my only chance to get out of this mess alive,_ he added silently to himself.

"Alright," Gus answered as he extended his hand to Harry, "we'll start work first thing tomorrow morning. Your room is just down the hall. You should get some rest, you'll need it." Without saying another word, Gus turned and headed down the hall to his room.

"Gus," Harry yelled after him, "Can you tell me more about my mother tomorrow?"

"No," Gus answered as he turned to face him again.

"What?" Harry asked, surprised at the response, "but I just want to know more about her."

"You'll find," Gus answered, with a hint of laughter in his voice, "that we very rarely get what we want in this life. I, for one, would love to be able to see my prick when I take a shower," he paused, and used his hand to indicate his large pot-belly, "but thanks to this guy here, it's not to be. Now, get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow." Without another word, he continued down the hall to his room.

For a long time that night, Harry sat up, staring into the dying embers of the fire and, wondering if he had made the right choice. Only time would tell.

**A/N: Well, here is Chapter Five. Sorry for the long delay, but I had a hard time getting this Chapter to the point where I was satisfied with it. Enjoy.**

**EnigmaDecoder**


	6. What You Are

**Chapter Six**

**What You Are**

With his mind racing, Harry sat in the darkness and watched until the last glowing embers in the hearth finally twinkled out. So much had happened over the last few days that it was a struggle for him to process it all. Here he was, not even sixteen years old, and fate, destiny, or just plain bad luck had determined that history's most powerful Dark Lord could only be defeated by him. The absurdity of that idea almost made him laugh.

The duel that Harry had witnessed, between Voldemort and Dumbledore at the Department of Mysteries, had chilled him to the bone. The level of magic that the two powerful wizards had called upon was beyond what Harry had deemed as possible. It had frightened him at the time, but now that he looked back on it, he realized that it had also been beautiful; two absolute masters of their craft, involved in a macabre dance of death. Neither wizard even bothered to use incantations while they dueled. They simply forced their spells to take shape through sheer willpower, and their magic had responded to their needs. In fact so skilled were the two duelists that it often appeared to Harry as if one would launch a counter-spell before the other had even finished his attack.

Harry held no illusions that he could reach that level of skill any time soon. While he may have been Voldemort's equal in power, or so the Prophecy would have him believe, he would never be able to overcome the advantage those many decades of research and experience had given Voldemort. Unless Merlin himself suddenly appeared, gave Harry his magic staff, and magically transferred all of his knowledge to him, he doubted that he would ever be able to defeat Voldemort in a straight up duel of magical skill. However, as nice a thought as that was, Harry lived in the real world, and he knew that things like that just didn't happen. No, he would have to figure a way out of this situation himself. It wasn't going to be easy, but the longer he sat there deep in thought, the stronger he felt his resolve grow.

Over the course of the night, Harry had toyed with the thought of simply running away from the Wizarding World all together. At this point, it would have been a simple thing for him to vanish. After all, everyone, except for Gus, thought he was dead. The Wizarding World hadn't exactly been overly gracious to him in the past. In the few short years that he had been a part of it, he had been called almost everything one could think of, from a savior and hero, to an attention-seeking child and unbalanced menace. It wasn't as if Harry felt that he owed these people anything. In fact, part of him felt that they deserved whatever Voldemort gave them. However, Harry realized that the world was a remarkably small place, and he wouldn't be able to run far enough away. All it would take was a rumor that he had been spotted somewhere, and Voldemort would hunt him to the ends of the earth.

In the end, Harry made his decision to stay not because it was the right thing to do, or because of the fact that his friends might suffer without him, and certainly not for the faceless masses of the Wizarding World. No, he was staying for himself. Everything that he had lost in his life to this point could be easily traced back to Voldemort. He had robbed Harry of his chance at a normal life, and Harry wanted to make him pay for that. Simply put, he was staying for one reason; revenge.

Harry knew that he had a lot to do before he reached that point though. While Dumbledore had insisted that Harry's 'Power' was his capacity to love. That explanation had never really made much sense to Harry. After last night's conversation with Gus, he now held little doubt that his newly discovered psychic abilities were the power that the Prophecy spoke of. From what Gus had said, these talents were highly individualized, so beyond his apparent ability to heal himself, he really had no idea what to expect from them. Whatever they turned out to be, he would spend the remainder of the summer here with Gus, working to develop them. He only hoped that they would eventually give him an advantage over Voldemort.

Probably the most interesting thing that Harry had learned from Gus was the fact that his psychic abilities had been hampering his magical development all these years. This simple statement had explained many things to Harry. To this point, he had never really been serious about his schooling at Hogwarts. However, this wasn't because he was lazy or stupid. When he was learning a new spell or theory in class, he always _felt_ like he should be able to perform it easily. That he was rarely able to do so, without a great deal of practice anyway, often left him feeling extremely frustrated. The relief that he felt after hearing there was an actual _reason_ for the difficulty that he had experienced, went beyond words. Harry was very anxious to see what he was capable of once he had developed he mental core to the point that it was no longer inhibiting his magic.

Of course, Harry realized that he was going to have to make changes in the way he did things upon his return to Hogwarts. That is, if he planned to survive. First off, he would need to stop wasting as much time as he had been screwing around. There would be no more pointless games of Chess or Exploding Snap for him. He would use that time to do research in the Library, or to practice on his own in the Room of Requirement.

The second thing that Harry felt he needed to do was to take only those classes that were going to help him defeat Voldemort. He highly doubted that he would learn anything along those lines in Potions, History of Magic, or in fact, in most of the classes he had been required to take to this point. That would be changing as soon as he returned to Hogwarts, as the only classes that he planned to continue with were Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense. While carrying such a light class load wasn't normally allowed, Harry wasn't overly worried about it. He had a feeling that Dumbledore would be so glad to see him that he would quickly agree to the request, just to keep Harry at Hogwarts.

After all, Harry had plenty of money, so he wasn't without other options. Between the money his Parents had left for him and his inheritance from Sirius' Will, he was sure that he could hire the best instructors that money could buy to finish his education. While he preferred to finish his schooling in the _relative_ safety of Hogwarts, he wouldn't hesitate to try that option in the event that he wasn't developing as rapidly as he hoped to. If he spent every last Knut he had in the process then, so be it, because all the money in the world wouldn't do him any good if Voldemort killed him.

With a quick glance out the window, Harry noticed a gradual brightening of the sky, which heralded the rise of the sun. He let out a long sigh as he resigned himself to the fact that he would find no sleep tonight. He rose stiffly to his feet, grabbed an old jumper that was thrown casually over the arm of the sofa, and headed for the door. Despite that fact that it was too large for him, he put it on over the T-shirt and shorts that he had woken up in yesterday.

If Harry was to be spending his summer here, he felt that he should look around and get a feel for the area. As he stepped out onto the porch, he was surprised to find that the cabin sat on a hill several hundred meters from, what appeared to be, a good-sized lake. Giant trees grew in a thick forest on either side of the cabin, but there were none in front of it, and the view of the lake was spectacular. As he stepped outside, he was silently thankful he had decided to wear that old jumper because the early morning air was damp and quite cool, as a light breeze fought to drive last night's rain clouds from the sky.

The cabin, for that's indeed what the place was, sat up on a hillside that overlooked the small lake. A large twisted mass of ivy grew up one wall and encircled the stone chimney on the roof. The shutters on the windows were missing, or in one case, hung loosely and blew back and forth in the light breeze, and the small porch was in desperate need of new paint. Even with the distorted image his broken glasses provided him, Harry saw that it had once been an attractive place, and could easily be again, with a little work. Obviously, he hadn't known Gus for that long, but he seriously doubted that he was the type of person who cared about such things.

The long uncut grass, still heavy from last night's storm, was cool on his bare feet as he turned from the cabin and headed to the lake. While the cabin was obviously built on a hillside, Harry was surprised to find that the yard was completely level and didn't slope down to the lake like had he expected. He spotted the bone white tops of large stones that encircled the lawn and, seeing as how the ground disappeared just past them, he realized that a retaining wall had been built to make the yard level.

An owl hooted softly as it flew back to its home, and Harry's heart leapt as he thought of Hedwig. She too, was now dead because of Voldemort. For a moment, he found it odd that he cared more for about the death of his Owl than he did about the deaths of the Dursleys, his only remaining family. That feeling passed quickly though as the Dursleys had never shown him anything but disdain. On some level, he felt sorry they were dead, but he wouldn't waste his time mourning for them. They certainly wouldn't have mourned his passing. With his thoughts dark, he turned to continue his survey of the area.

Off to the left were two lampposts, one flickering futilely and the other long since burned out, which hung over what he thought must have been horseshoe pits. To his right, was an old stone fire-pit, with a small pile of logs nearby. Beyond these things, the yard was rather plain. As he approached the far end of the lawn, he saw a set of stairs that lead down to a small dock. Eagerly, he took the steps two at a time, until he found himself at the edge of the dock, looking out at the lake. It wasn't a large lake by any means, but the water was crystal-clear and, he found after dipping his foot into it, quite cold.

It was a very peaceful spot, Harry thought as he sat down and got comfortable. He saw that the sun had begun to rise above the trees behind him and he watched as its warming light crept towards him across the lake. He knew that it would reach him eventually, but for the time being, Harry sat alone in the shadows, with only his thoughts for company.

* * *

Some hours later, Harry finally left the dock and headed back up the steps towards the cabin to see if he could find some breakfast. About halfway there, he was suddenly startled by a loud yell coming from the cabin, followed by a long string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. He sprinted the final few yards to the cabin and once he made it inside, he had to stop and catch himself before he burst out laughing.

Gus stood in the kitchen, dressed only in a faded blue bathrobe, shaking his hand about wildly. His stringy hair, what little of it remained on his balding head, stuck up strangely to the right side, which gave him the appearance of someone who was struggling to hang on to the last fragments of his sanity. A glint of silver caught Harry's eye and he saw an old-fashioned metal coffee pot spinning slowly in a steaming pool of liquid on the floor. He quickly realized that Gus must have burned himself while making coffee.

Still unaware that Harry had entered the room, Gus tore open the freezer and grabbed a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps with his burned hand. Apparently, the icy bottle must have soothed his burn because Harry saw Gus' shoulders relax as he blew out a deep breath.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, as he tried to keep the amusement he felt out of his voice.

At the sound of Harry's voice, Gus jumped in surprise and spun around to face him. "No," he answered abruptly, "I'm not alright." He must have seen the glint of laughter that was dancing in Harry's eyes, because his voice took on a hard, dangerous edge as he ground out, "What is so _fucking_ funny?"

This caught Harry completely off guard. _Who the hell did this guy think he was?_ Harry wondered to himself. Regardless of fact that Gus seemed to be the only person who could help him develop his new abilities, Harry certainly wasn't about to just sit here and put up with endless crap all summer. No, he had played out that game for too many years with the Dursleys, and now that they were out of his life, he wasn't about to let anyone treat him that way again.

Harry was preparing to tell Gus exactly were he could stick his attitude, when the older man suddenly sat down at the table. He took a deep breath and brought his good hand up to massage the bridge of his nose. "Look," he began again with his voice much calmer and even apologetic this time. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

Harry relaxed a little at the apology, and waited calmly as Gus continued to speak.

"I'm not much of a morning person and I'm not used to having other people around me. Plus, I drank too much last night and now I have a pretty bad hangover as well." Gus looked Harry straight in the eye as he gave a second apology. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest."

Harry took a step forward and took the seat opposite from Gus at the table. He sat quietly for a few moments and just looked at the older man, unsure of how he felt about him just yet. "So," he finally asked to break the awkward silence. "You're… a bit of a dick then?"

Gus snorted in laughter at that and his face broke out in a smile. "I've been called a lot worse." He said as he opened the chilled bottle of Schnapps he was holding and promptly took a slug from it.

"I thought you had a hangover?" Harry questioned.

Gus just gave a shrug of his shoulders as he lowered the bottle. "Hair of the dog," he answered "and all that rot I guess."

Harry watched intently as Gus raised his left hand to catch small glass that was floating towards him from the kitchen. He caught the curious look on Harry's face as he filled the glass with Schnapps and answered his unspoken question. "That was just a bit of Telekinesis. It's not one of the abilities that I'm all that good at, but it sure is dead useful if you're a lazy sack of shit like me."

"Wow," Harry answered excitably. "That's brilliant. Do you think that I might be able to do that?"

Gus shrugged his shoulders in response before he set his bottle of liquor on the table between the two of them. "Well hotshot," he said as he rose to his feet, "there's only one way to find out. Why don't you give it a try? Go ahead and see if you can call that bottle into your hand."

"Alright," Harry said skeptically. "But, how do I do it?"

Gus stopped fumbling around with his cigarette pack, stared at Harry intently for a moment, before he shut his eyes and again rubbed the bridge of his nose. Harry couldn't tell if Gus was deep in thought, or just annoyed by his question. However, Gus answered him before he could give it too much thought. "Well, you just need to focus on the bottle and concentrate on pulling it into your hand. It may take a while, but if you are capable of learning to do this, then eventually, you will feel a surge of energy just before the bottle moves. _If_ you can even do it in the first place, of course.

"Now, in the beginning, it will probably help you to clear your mind completely of everything except the image of the bottle. It will help you to focus on your target, and more importantly, help you to recognize the feeling you have when you release some of your power. The sooner we get you to the point where you understand the way it feels to use your power the better."

"I'll give it a try then," Harry responded with a firm nod of his head. "It sounds a lot like Occlumency to me though."

"Wait a tick," Gus cut back in, "how is it that you know about Occlumency?"

"I was given lessons in it last year. It was supposed to help me block out Voldemort's attempts to enter my mind," Harry answered quietly. "It didn't do me any good though. Between my teacher having it out for me, and my dream of seeing him fed to a Hungarian Horntail, I didn't learn much of anything useful."

Gus shook his head slowly as he lit a cigarette. "_Jesus_," he spat as he blew out a puff of smoke. "You aren't capable of learning Occlumency, not that they would know that of course. It's a bleeding miracle that you, or this teacher of yours, weren't hurt. Although, from what you just said, I doubt the idea of seeing him in pain would have bothered you too much."

"Yeah," Harry said after a small snort of laughter. "Seeing Snape suffer wouldn't have been too bad at all." He relaxed back in his chair, content to imagine Snape twisting in pain for a moment, before he was jolted by the other part of Gus' statement. "Wait a minute," he asked, "why is it that I can't learn Occlumency?"

"Well," Gus started to explain. "Our psychic abilities are not compatible with the study of Occlumency. Early on in my time with the Unspeakables, they tried to find out more about me and my gifts by using a skilled Legimens to read my thought patterns. It didn't work though, and the Unspeakable felt a surge of pain when he tried to enter my mind. Every few years, one of them would get it into their heads to try the process again, but they never had any better luck. In fact, as my powers grew, the reaction seemed to grow more intense. I think that the last time one of their Legimens tried to read me, the poor fellow was thrown across the room and knocked unconscious for several hours."

A smile blossomed on Harry's face as he considered what this revelation would mean for him. A part of him almost hoped that Dumbledore would insist that continue his Occlumency lessons with Snape. He quickly shifted his attention back to Gus as the man continued to speak.

"I should warn you though, this incompatibility is a two way street. My powers give me a little bit of talent with ESP. When the Unspeakables worked with me to develop it, I could sometimes catch glimpses of their thoughts. However, when I tried to read someone who was trained in Occlumency, I was hit with the same sort of burst of pain. It's a lot like the feeling of being hit with a cattle prod, so trust me when I tell you that it is no fun at all.

"But, I'm getting ahead of myself a little bit. At this point, it's too early to tell what powers you'll be capable of, so we won't worry about that just yet.

"Oh, before I forget," Gus said suddenly, as he pulled a small package wrapped in brown paper from his pocket and tossed it to Harry. "You'll need to put this on."

"What is it?" Harry asked as he deftly snatched the package out of the air.

"Well," Gus answered quickly. "I read a little about the connection that you share with the Dark Lord. I know that you can't believe everything that you read in the papers, but when I decided that I was going to help you, I figured it be a good idea to be safe just in case. From what you just said about not being able to block him from your mind, I'm glad I did too.

"It's just a necklace that I embedded with a touch of my power, to help keep you hidden from the Dark Lord for the time being. When I am nearby, I can use my powers to keep you safe, but I won't be with you every minute of the summer. That necklace should keep you hidden while I'm away."

"Why won't you be around all summer?" Harry asked as he tore open the package to reveal a simple silver chain with a small black stone on it.

"Well, I _do_ have to work you know," Gus responded as he swept his arms around the small cabin in a grand gesture. "You don't think that all this luxury is free do you?"

Harry laughed softly at Gus as he slipped the simple pendant around his neck and asked, "So, what do you do then?"

"You happen to be looking at one of the finest Horse Handicappers around," Gus said grandly, as he winked at Harry. "You see, I found that my psychic gifts allow me to see the general health and fitness level of people or, in this case, horses. It makes the wagering aspect of it much easier, almost like taking candy from a baby."

"So," Harry responded, as a sour expression crept onto his face "you're a cheater then."

"Well, _excuse me_ Saint Potter, but that's a _very_ naïve opinion," Gus bit back harshly. "You'll have to forgive me if the way I make my living has offended your delicate sensibilities, but I just don't think that it's _cheating _for meto use my God given abilities for something, even if they _do_ give me an edge.

"I read that you are one hell of a Quidditch player, and that you're the youngest seeker that Hogwarts has seen in over a century. That's pretty impressive, but what if I told you that the _reason_ that you are such a good Seeker was because of _your_ psychic talents. Wouldn't that make you a cheater as well?"

"Wha...," Harry began, somewhat caught off guard by the way that Gus had redirected the conversation. "What do you mean by that?"

"I told you yesterday that the tests your mother ran on you before you were born showed that your psychic talents are primarily based on your ability to influence your metabolism. I don't think it's much of a stretch to say that your abilities, even in their current raw and undeveloped state, provide you with exceptional reflexes when you need them most. Your body unconsciously releases an extra burst of adrenaline, _and what do you know_, all of a sudden you can fly a little faster, turn a little tighter, and beat the other guy to the Snitch."

Gus saw Harry slump back in his chair as he thought about what he had just heard, so decided to just add one final point before he moved on. "Think about that the next time you are so quick to judge someone, or better yet, think about it the next time you snatch a Snitch right out from under the other Seeker's nose.

"Alright," Gus continued in a much more upbeat voice. "Do you want to see whether you've got what it takes to move this bottle, or not?" He had to consciously fight to keep a smile from appearing on his face when he saw the grim look of determination that Harry showed after hearing the challenge. "Okay great, but don't be discouraged if you can do it. Like I said, it's _very _possible that this isn't one of your particular skills."

Harry focused on the bottle intently as he tried to tune out the rest of the room. He was slightly stung by the way Gus had turned the conversation back on him just now, but more than that, he had felt his pride take a bit of a shot when Gus implied that he couldn't do this. _Well_, he thought to himself, _Gus is about to learn that it's never a good idea to underestimate me._

Harry sat trying to will the bottle into his hand for some time. However, nothing he tried seemed to have any effect and the Schnapps bottle stayed firmly in place, almost like it was mocking him. He caught the slight smirk as it appeared on Gus' face, and he gritted his teeth and tried harder. After several more frustrating minutes, he was about to give up and admit defeat. Before he could say anything though, he felt a sudden twinge in his head, that reminded him of the feeling he got whenever he clenched his fist suddenly, and the bottle finally moved.

However, instead of floating gently into his hand, as he had seen the glass that Gus called in from the kitchen do, the bottle leapt off the table _away_ from him where it shattered on the cabin wall, spraying Peppermint Schnapps and little shards of glass everywhere.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Gus shouted, as he rushed over to inspect the damage.

"Sorry," Harry offered meekly, as he felt his face flush with embarrassment. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I did feel something just before that happened though."

Gus pulled his wand and quickly Vanished the mess before he rounded on Harry. "That was an expensive bottle of Schnapps you know."

Harry could tell that Gus was on the verge of loosing his temper again and he offered another quick apology that he hoped would head him off before he got a head of steam.

It seemed to work too, because Gus paused and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and once again rubbed the bridge of his nose as he spoke. "It's okay," he began, sounding much more in control this time. "I know it was an accident. This arrangement is _definitely_ going to take some getting used to on my part. Look Harry, if I give you something that you can work on by yourself, do you think you could let me be for a bit while I get myself together for the day?"

"Yeah, I can do that." Harry answered quickly, missing the slight smirk that had crept onto Gus' face. However, seeing the man's wand led Harry to think of his own, as of yet, missing wand. "You didn't happen to grab my wand when you pulled me out of my Uncle's place the other day, did you?"

Gus shook his head no as he spoke, "Sorry, but there wasn't really much time for me to look around for souvenirs. Don't worry though, I know a guy who deals in Wizarding Estates. He gets his hands on the occasional wand, so I'm sure we can find something for you. It probably won't be too good of a match for you, but it'll be better than nothing."

"Okay," Harry answered with a shrug of his shoulders, "but I don't see why we just can't go to a Wandmaker and get one that will match me."

"Now why didn't _I_ think of that?" Gus wondered loudly, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. "We'll just go right now. You know what, we'll even stop and pick you up a Phoenix on the way."

Gus winced slightly when he saw the hard glare that appeared in Harry's eyes at his last verbal jab and began again, in a more apologetic voice this time. "I'm sorry Harry. My father used to love my sarcasm, but it's a bit of an acquired taste. I haven't met too many people over the years who could stomach it. I need to keep in mind that you weren't brought up in the Wizarding World, so you would have no real way of knowing just how few Wandmakers there really are.

"Beyond the fact that there aren't many around, a wand can be even more dangerous than a muggle firearm. As such, every Ministry in the world keeps close tabs on Wandmakers and every sale is registered. At the moment, everyone believes that Harry Potter is dead, and I don't think that we should give up that advantage by taking a half-assed trip to get you a new wand."

Gus cinched his bathrobe a little tighter around his ample stomach and to a step towards Harry with his hand extended. "No hard feelings I hope?"

Harry got to his feet and reached out to shake Gus' hand as he replied evenly, "no, it's okay."

Just before their hands clasped, Gus produced a small penknife, that he had been holding unseen in his outstretched hand, and slashed at Harry's exposed palm. Harry hissed at the unexpected pain as the small, but razor sharp blade, opened a deep slash in his hand. "What the hell was that for?" he shouted angrily as he stumbled backwards and nearly tripped over his chair.

"I told you I was going to give you something you could work on by yourself this morning." Gus said in a placating voice as he took a wary step back from Harry, who in his anger, had begun to move like a trapped and injured animal about to pounce. "I probably should have warned you first, but…, well, I don't really know why I didn't."

"Look Harry it's like this," Gus continued, "your psychic core is a lot like a muscle. In order for it to get stronger, it needs to be _used_. At this point, the only power that we can be sure that you have is your ability to heal yourself. So, for the time being that is all we have to work with. Now, as your core develops I'm sure that more of your latent abilities will surface, but until then, I just can't afford to have you breaking all my expensive bottles of liquor."

Gus had meant his last bit to be a joke, but seeing as the icy glare remained in Harry's eyes, he was smart enough to know that he had failed miserably. He gave a cough to clear his throat and forged ahead. "Why don't you head outside and find a comfortable place to sit. I don't think you'll have to do much. I expect that you body will deal with the injury by itself. What I want you to do is just to focus on the feeling as the cut heals. The sooner you can identify how your power feels when it works, the faster you will be able to call on it when you need it.

"Listen, I know I must seem like a complete nutter to you right now," Gus added, still trying to break the tension, "but trust me, this will all be worth it later. I'll check up on you in a little bit."

"Fine." Harry bit out coldly as he turned and headed outside, loudly slamming the screen door behind him as he went.

Gus watched him head down to the dock for a few seconds before he moved to retrieve a bottle of Scotch from the pantry. _Well old boy_, he thought, _that went terribly. This is shaping up to be a long summer. _Not bothering with a glass, he opened the bottle and took a big gulp of the fiery liquid as he sat back down at the table to think.

* * *

Harry was furious as he stormed out of the cabin and headed down to the dock. There was no better way to explain it. However, it wasn't really Gus' sneak attack that had set him off. As twisted as it was, Harry could still see the logic of it. When Gus had first told him about his psychic abilities, he had realized that like anything else, they were most likely going to require a good bit of hard work and sacrifice on his part, at least in the beginning stages of their development. Had Gus just told him what he planned to do _and_ his reasons for it, Harry would have gladly cut his own hand. Hell, he had suffered through much worse injuries in his life than a small cut on his hand. No, it wasn't _what _Gus just did that had made him this angry it was the _way_ that he had gone about it.

Like seemingly every other adult that Harry had known to this point in his life, Gus had assumed that he knew what was best. He made his plan of action alone, and even though it directly affected Harry, he chose to leave him in the dark about it. Well, Harry had seen more than enough of that so far in his life. He wasn't about to stand by and be treated like his opinion didn't matter for even one day more.

Whether or not anyone would acknowledge it, Harry was no child, and in all honesty, he hadn't been one for a long time. His life had not been an easy one, and to survive he had been forced to throw away the trappings of childhood at a young age. True, he was not yet sixteen years old, but from a maturity stand point he was already an adult. If only the _actual_ adults in his life would have realized this, many of the tragedies he had seen to this point could have been easily avoided. He was going to make them understand this very soon. He just hoped that no one else would have to die before they listened to him.

When Harry arrived down at the dock, he knelt down and dipped his still bleeding hand in the lake to clean it. Unsure what he needed to do, he sat back against one of the dock support beams, and stared blankly at the blood slowly oozing from his wound. Gus had said that his body would pretty much take care of healing the cut and all Harry needed to do was concentrate on the feeling his body had when this happened. Unfortunately, his lingering anger and frustration made it difficult for him to focus on much of anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

Finally, the warm afternoon sun combined with the gentle lapping sound of the lake against the dock, helped to ease Harry into a much more peaceful and relaxed state of mind. Because he hadn't slept at all the night before, he eventually nodded off to sleep. It didn't turn out to be a long nap though. Just moments after he drifted off, he slipped from the post he had been leaning against and was jarred awake by the sudden movement.

After a short moment's disorientation, Harry noticed that his injured hand was strangely warm. Curious, he dipped his hand back in the lake and began to wipe away the blood that had long since dried over his cut. The warmth that he felt soon changed into a tingling sensation, which quickly became an uncomfortable itchy feeling. Over the next few minutes, he watched in fascination as his power knitted the small slice on his hand back together. When the itchy sensation finally ceased, it was like his hand had never been cut in the first place.

With a great swell of satisfaction, Harry got to his feet and headed back up to the cabin to talk with Gus about what he had just felt. He wasn't sure exactly how long it had taken, but he was satisfied with the results for his first attempt. As he left the dock, he saw Gus heading down to meet him so he stopped and waited for him to draw near.

"Well," Harry said as Gus came to a halt in front of him, "I did it. It took me a while at first, but I did feel something eventually."

"Really?" Gus responded in a pleased voice as he handed Harry a sandwich. "I hope you like ham because it's all I had. Let me take a look and see how you made out."

Taking the sandwich gratefully, Harry extended his palm to show off the newly healed skin as Gus reached out and pulled it closer to examine it. "Looks pretty good," he said simply.

Harry allowed himself a satisfied smile at Gus' simple statement. However, it quickly disappeared when Gus produced his penknife again and proceeded to carve another slice in Harry's freshly healed hand.

"What the hell's _wrong_ with you?" Harry yelled, feeling his earlier anger return in force as he tugged his hand out of Gus' grasp. Gus said nothing in response. He just gave a small shrug of his shoulders, turned away, and headed back to the cabin, whistling softly as he went.

"I didn't ask for any of this you know." Harry shouted in frustration at the retreating man's back.

"Never said that you did," Gus responded evenly, without breaking his stride towards the cabin, "but that doesn't change anything. It took you nearly two hours to heal that cut and that's not good enough. If it had been a serious wound, you'd have died long before then. Do it faster this time."

Harry stared after Gus until he finally disappeared into the cabin. Not having any real outlet for his frustrations, he bit into his sandwich angrily and stomped back down to his spot on the dock. He made short work of the sandwich and quickly settled in so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

This time, however, it did not go well for Harry. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to call up the same feeling he had experienced earlier, and the angry red slice on his hand remained unchanged. As the hours slowly passed without results, he became more and more frustrated.

Eventually, Harry noticed that the shadows had begun to grow longer as the afternoon gave way to evening. With a deep sigh, which turned quickly into a yawn, he realized just how tired he was. He decided that if he wasn't going to make any more progress today, then he might as well try to get some sleep. Not wanting to give Gus the satisfaction of knowing that he had failed to heal the second cut, he pulled off his sweatshirt and tucked it behind his head as he lay back on the dock. In just a few moments, he was sound asleep.

A short time later, Harry woke feeling much more rested. He wasn't sure how long he had slept, but the sun hadn't set yet, so he was sure it mustn't have been too long. As he got slowly to his feet, he was surprised to feel the same warmth he had felt earlier, growing in his injured hand. He watched mesmerized, as the warmth quickly gave way to the same itchy sensation that he had felt earlier, and his cut disappeared.

Feeling suddenly pleased with himself, Harry was about to head back to the cabin when he stopped dead in his tracks. _I just spent forever trying to do that_, he thought to himself, _what suddenly changed that made it so simple for me_? He leaned down onto the dock railing, and looked out over the lake as he chewed over that thought. For a long time, he could find no answer but then, out of the blue, it hit him.

_Could it be that simple?_ Harry wondered, as his eyes fixed on a loose nail whose point stuck out from the railing. _Well, _he thought as he casually dropped his hand onto the nail, breaking theskin,_ only one way to know for sure_. He stared blankly at the fresh crimson droplets of blood that sprang from this newest wound, and concentrated hard. In mere seconds this time, he felt the warm itchy sensation, and just like that, the cut was gone.

The difference between being shown how to do something, and figuring it out for oneself, was immense. As such, Harry felt a great swell of pride at having solved this particular puzzle himself. He realized that both times he struggled to heal the cuts that Gus had given him; he had been angry and increasingly frustrated. In both these cases, it had only been after he woke from a short nap, with his mind relaxed and peaceful, that the healing took place. He had concentrated hard on that same feeling of calm when he healed the puncture from the nail. Like firing a gun, the results had been immediate and impressive. He had found a trigger for his healing ability now, but before he got too excited, he decided that one more test was in order.

Still elated with his success, Harry gritted his teeth and hissed at the pain as he drew the entire length of his forearm down the exposed nail and opened up a long, deep cut this time. With another moment's concentration, he felt the rush of warmth to his forearm and watched as this wound also vanished without a trace.

A smile broke out on Harry's face, but it was short lived. Suddenly, his vision blurred and he was hit with a sudden feeling of extreme dizziness, which forced him to his knees and made him break out in a cold sweat. After several seconds, he felt the sensation dissipate, only to be replaced with a dull throbbing headache. Leaning over the edge of the dock, he scooped up a handful of cool lake water and splashed it on his face before he sat back up.

_Well_, Harry thought, with a rueful shake of his head, which he immediately regretted, _Gus said that the psychic core was a lot like a muscle. I guess it's only fair that I'm a little sore after I give it a workout_. He sat collecting himself for a few more minutes, before he put his old jumper back on and headed up to the cabin.

* * *

As soon as Harry reached the top of the steps onto the level area in front of the cabin, he got a sudden, overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his heart began to violently hammer in his chest. His eyes flashed back and forth searching for danger and he unconsciously shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet as he cautiously stalked forward. He saw nothing out of place that would indicate there was any danger, but his instincts were _certain_ that it was there.

With each measured step Harry took towards the cabin, his sense of unease grew. Finally, as he drew even with the old stone fire-pit, the pounding of his heart had reached a fever pitch and the sense of foreboding he felt had him in a near state of panic. He didn't know what was wrong, but he knew that he was in immediate danger and he had do something immediately.

Without making a conscious decision to act, Harry's instincts took over and he suddenly threw his body into a dive over the old fire-pit. As soon as he began his dive, he heard the deafening crack of a shotgun being fired. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, crouched down at the edge of the retaining wall next to the broken light post. Before he had even hit the ground, Harry heard the sound of the shotgun pellets ricocheting off the stone of the fireplace that he had been standing in front of just a second before.

Harry winced slightly as some of the shot grazed his cheek and knocked his glasses from his face. He hit the ground hard but he quickly rolled up into a crouch, all the while wishing he had his wand. He saw the blurry shape of the armed man getting to his feet and he felt a sudden swell of rage boil up from his stomach.

He felt the warm blood trickling down his injured cheek and his eyes began to water when he realized the scratch was burning like it was on fire._ Why does this always happen to me? _Harry thought bitterly to himself. _All I want is to be left alone. _He quickly shook away the feeling of self-pity that just come over him and once again focused on his attacker.

As Harry's eyes once again fell on the blurry shape of the man, he immediately felt a sudden, and very intense, surge of power ripple through his body. This sensation was nearly identical to what he had felt earlier in the day when he had tried, unsuccessfully, to call the liquor bottle to him, only this feeling was many times stronger.

With a great deal of satisfaction, Harry heard a loud grunt of surprise issue from his attacker, and he watched as the man fell backwards out of sight. Without even pausing to wonder what had happened to the man, he sprang to his feet intent on finding Gus, curious as to why the gunshot hadn't brought him running.

Harry had only taken one-step, when he was hit with a violent wave of dizziness and his vision began to fade to black around the edges. He stumbled suddenly and fell to his knees where he retched violently, only just keeping down the contents of his stomach.

With a sinking feeling, he realized that he was only seconds away from blacking out completely. He fought valiantly against the veil of darkness that was descending over him, but between the dizziness he felt, and the sudden acute pain that was ripping through his skull, he was losing.

"No!" The defiant scream tore itself from Harry's throat as he fought against the inevitable. He had fought his whole life, and he wasn't about to stop now. With fierce determination, Harry tapped into his deep reserve of willpower and fought desperately to maintain consciousness.

Finally, after what seemed to Harry to be a long struggle, but was in reality no more than a few short seconds, his eyes snapped open again. He saw his glasses, still short one lens, laying just a few inches from his face and he quickly snatched them up and returned them to their proper place as he struggled to his feet. The dizziness he felt earlier was gone, but the sharp pain in his head remained. He winced slightly as he looked quickly around for his attacker, the sudden movement making his headache worse.

Harry saw no immediate threat, and his earlier feeling of danger was also gone, but he wasn't about to take any chances. He spotted a weathered old axe-handle lying on the ground near his feet, which he picked up. While the axe-head had long since broken off and lay rusting on the ground at his feet, the handle was still a good sturdy piece of wood and, without a wand; it was the closest thing to a weapon he could find.

Harry was giving his club a few tentative swings to get the feel for it, when he heard a muffled grunt issue from the area where he had last seen his attacker. Instantly wary, he dropped into a crouch and spun towards the noise, while a sudden spike of pain in his head encouraged him to move slower next time. He saw some movement and quickly focused on its source.

Near the base of the broken lamppost, which along with its still working partner had at one time lit the horseshoe pits they stood watch over, Harry saw a foot. More specifically, he saw a foot tangled up in the electrical cord that had once supplied power to the lamppost. Moving as quickly and quietly as he could manage, he crossed the yard towards his attacker. As he drew nearer, he saw the foot twitching wildly and he realized that the man must have slipped over the edge of the retaining wall and was now hanging suspended by his entwined foot. Having discovered that his attacker was effectively trapped, he dropped any pretense of stealth, rushed to the edge of the retaining wall and peered cautiously down at the trapped man, determined to act while he still held an advantage.

What Harry saw when he looked over the edge caused him to freeze in place as an angry chill shot up his spine. The man suspended upside-down below him was not the dangerous assassin that he had anticipated, it was a very red-faced and short of breath Gus. Shaking his head in anger, he stepped back from the edge and decided what he was going to do about this situation.

Seconds later, a very grim-faced Harry Potter stepped over the edge of the wall and dropped into a crouch just a few short feet from Gus. Still tightly clutching his axe-handle, he rose slowly to his feet and fought down another stab of pain in his head brought on by the sudden movement.

"Harry!" Gus slurred cheerfully as his gaze snapped onto him. "Give us a hand would you? I seem to be sort of stuck at the moment."

As soon as Gus began to speak, Harry had been almost overpowered by the strong smell of alcohol coming from him. _Great_, Harry thought to himself wryly, _he's drunk as Hell._ _Doesn't matter though, this might actually make this easier. After all, he hasn't exactly been forthcoming about what his psychic powers are. Maybe the alcohol will impede his thought processes, and his powers, enough so that I can get away with this. _

"Not just yet Gus." Harry said evenly as he circled around in front of the suspended man and dropped down so he was nearly eye-level with him. "You see, I think we need to have a little talk about the way things are going to go, from here on out, first."

Gus sputtered indignantly for a moment but, "Wha…," was as far as he got with his reply.

"I think its best that I finish what with what I have to say before you respond." Harry said, abruptly cutting off Gus. "You just tried to shoot me. Whether you did it because you take some sick pleasure in torturing people, or because you thought it would help my training, I don't know and, frankly, I don't care anymore.

"What I care about," Harry continued as he stood up and began to pace back and forth, "is where we go from here. I _need_ to learn what you have to teach me Gus, but that doesn't make me your personal whipping boy, so we are _going_ to make some changes in the way we do things around here.

"Now," Harry continued as he once again dropped into a crouch so he was at eye level with Gus, "from here on out, you are _going_ to teach me how to use my psychic powers, but we will discuss _every_ exercise that you want to try. There will be no more stabbing me with knives, or jumping out from behind trees and trying to shoot me, or whatever other demented thing you can think of.

"Believe me Gus; I understand how important my learning to develop these psychic powers is. My life is on the line, and I promise you that I will give everything I have to learning what you have to teach me this summer. All I ask is that you treat me like an equal. If you can do that, then we will get along just fine. So, what do you say?"

"_Fuck you_!" Gus spat back at Harry with an angry wheeze. "Who the _Hell_ do you think you are anyway? _Nobody_, not even Merlin himself, can tell me what to do. I agreed to help you this summer because I owed it to your Mother, but you know what, you can go fuck yourself, because I won't be teaching you anything now."

"Oh," Harry said calmly as a smile crept onto his face, "I think you will. You see, right now you need me just as much, if not more, than I need you."

Gus looked at him skeptically for a moment before he asked harshly, "And why the _fuck_ would that be?"

"Well," Harry answered evenly, "it seems to me that you are in more than a little spot of trouble at the moment. Before I hopped down here, I had a look at your trapped foot. From the looks of that knotted mess, I can't see you getting your foot free, without help, anytime soon. Now, that doesn't sound too bad, does it?

"Unfortunately for you, there is more to your current situation than just been caught in some wire. Judging by how red your face is at the moment, and that loud rasping noise you are making whenever you take a breath, I'd guess that you are having trouble breathing.

"With you being upside down and all," Harry continued jovially, "it looks to me as if that massively fat stomach of yours is slowly crushing all the air out of your lungs, and making it nearly impossible for you to keep drawing breath. So, the way I see it, you have two choices right now. One, you tell me to piss off, and you take your chances that you'll be able to get free before you blackout from lack of oxygen and eventually suffocate. Or two, you give me your oath right now, that you will do everything you can to help me this summer, and I'll cut you down so that we can get to work. The choice is yours."

Gus stared blankly at him for several seconds as he tried to figure out whether or not Harry was bluffing, but he met Gus' gaze with a cold blank stare of his own that gave away nothing. Finally, unable to match the intensity of the younger man's eyes, Gus looked away convinced that Harry was, in fact, deathly serious about his earlier threat.

When Gus looked away, his heart jumped suddenly as he saw a third option, one that Harry hadn't offered him, lying just inches away from him was his forgotten wand. With a grunt of desperation, Gus made a grab for his wand, allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as his fingers wrapped around the familiar piece of wood, and began to raise it.

Harry had noticed the stray wand just seconds before Gus had, and wasn't the least bit surprised when the older man made a grab for it. Not really having time to think of a plan, Harry acted on instinct. Grabbing the axe-handle he still held firmly with both hands, he swung it back over his head and sent it whistling down in a short arc until it connected on the back of Gus' hand just he had scooped up his wand.

Harry heard the distinctive crack of breaking bone, followed by a piercing scream of pain from Gus. He deftly bent and caught the wand as it fell from Gus' grasp. Harry took a cautious step back, slightly sickened by what he had just done, and fought to keep his expression blank. He hadn't meant for this to get out of hand. He had been bluffing earlier when he said he would leave Gus to die, but things had quickly gotten out of control and his hand had been forced.

"You broke my fucking hand." Gus spat bitterly at Harry.

"I did." Harry answered coldly as he tossed aside the axe-handle. "Now, what's your decision? Either give me your vow now, or I'll leave you to your fate."

Gus stared angrily at Harry for several minutes, but in the end, he caved in and gave Harry the Wizard's Oath that he wanted. Harry blew out a sigh of relief after the oath was given. He had learned enough about Wizard's Oaths from Hermione's near constant babbling over the years, to know that he didn't have to worry about Gus turning on him once he was free. The oath would prevent that, so he raised the wand he still held and uttered a quick _Diffendo_ that severed the wire holding Gus, and sent the man crashing to the ground in a heap. Without another word, Harry turned away and headed back to the cabin.

In the end, Harry had gotten what he wanted, but it had left a bad taste in his mouth. Although he would deny it even to himself, the truth was that on some level, he had felt a rush of power when he realized that Gus was completely under his control. As he walked away, he wondered if Voldemort, back when he had been simply Tom Riddle, had ever felt the same feeling when he first imposed his will on another. Had Voldemort always been evil, or had been made that way by his circumstances? By manipulating Gus like he just did, had he just started down the same path that Riddle walked all those decades ago?

Harry pushed these thoughts from his mind, scared of where their answers might lead him, and made a silent vow to himself. He knew that this war would force him to do some distasteful things if he was to survive it, but he vowed that he wouldn't lose himself in the process. He would not allow himself to become like the monster who had taken so much from him.

* * *

As Harry walked silently toward the cabin, surrounded by his dark thoughts, he was blissfully unaware of the set of intelligent, dark eyes that peered out of the forest and watched him with interest. The sound of the earlier gunshot had peaked her interest, and curious, she had drawn nearer to investigate. When her sharp eyes had fallen on the young wizard, it had been all she could do, not to let loose a cry of victory. It was the same cry that had, for years, made grown-men's blood run cold. Many had considered her search to be futile, but despite that she had endured, and now she had found him. Soon, it would be time for her to act.

**A/N:** Well, here is Chapter Six. I hope you all enjoy it. I apologize for the delay, but the holiday season is always crazy for me. But, I'm sure none of you want to hear about that. Anyways, cheers and happy holidays to you all.


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